Beneath the Guise
by Snow Duchess
Summary: FFVI: Forged by the Empire and tempered in battle, no one has ever truly known the woman beneath the general's guise.
1. Daughter of Vector

**Beneath the Guise**

_Disclaimer__: All rights belong to Squaresoft._

_Summary__: [FFVI] Forged by the Empire and tempered in battle, no one has ever truly known the woman beneath the general's guise. Character study. Some Celes/Locke._

_Author's Notes__: The above summary is a direct quote from Celes' character description in the release of FFVI Advance and is the source of my inspiration. This will be a series of scenes blending and contrasting the General and the Woman within. This was originally going to be a romance-focused piece, but the story has since begun to evolve into something more. I guess we'll see where my muse takes me._

_Just a forewarning: this is not meant to be a fluffy piece, and there may not be a happily ever after._

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**Part I: Daughter of Vector**

The uniform itched. The helmet was too big, the boots were too small, and the armor plates were practically sliding off his shoulders. His post was incredibly dull, and after four hours, still no one had come to relieve him. He tried slipping away once, but the Armor-riding sentries just around either corner caught him and gave him a threatening reprimand. Since finding himself on the business end of a Magitek cannon was not high on his To Do list, he stayed.

And stayed.

Shifted his stance.

And stayed some more.

He was posted in front of a large house—or mansion, as would probably be more accurate. The front archway and oaken door were sculpted in classically simple Figaro architecture: neither finely ornate like Albrook nor excessively gaudy like Jidoor. The front lawn was crisp and trim, and the stone road leading up to the house was a private cul-de-sac.

There wasn't much going on there. The odd Imperial here and there would go in or come out, the patches on their uniforms identifying them as officers. A messenger came at one point, delivered his letter, and left.

Despite the lack of activity, there was a Magitek Armor patrolling either side of the mansion, one down at the other end of the street, and he guessed a fourth behind the house. The periodic and rhythmic footfalls heard within told the sentry of the constant patrol of guards around the interior. The manor was serving as none other than the Imperial Headquarters.

And was still boring as hell.

Quite suddenly, an entirely new entity approached.

Flanked by two male officers, a woman no older than twenty strode down the walkway, her steel-toed boots clicking sharply on the gray stone. Her attractive features and flowing blonde hair were the first things he noticed until he slowly registered her attire: the white cloak, the gold armor, and the black jerkin clearly marked this woman an Imperial Elitist; a Magitek Knight.

The sentry hastily saluted as she drew near, being careful to avert his gaze. Closer still, and the sentry could see from the corner of his eye that the woman's expression was a chiseled mask. Pale blue eyes were as cold as the depths of an iceberg.

The door behind him opened, and another officer stepped to greet the small entourage with a salute.

"General Chere, welcome back." Upon hearing the name, the sentry unconsciously straightened his stance while the officer continued. "All is well?"

"They had been alerted to our presence," the woman muttered darkly. "The hideout was deserted by the time we arrived."

The sentry shivered as a draft of cold air blew past him. Part of him wondered if it had indeed been swept in by the general's snowy cloak, or if his mind was playing tricks. As soon as General Chere entered the mansion, the chill vanished, and he released the breath he had been holding.

The door closed, and all was quiet for several minutes. One of the windows on the top floor was cracked open, and the sentry soon caught parts of a muffled conversation. The first voice sounded like the officer who had come out of the mansion.

"—reports…intruder…sabotage…continue searching…" There was a short pause. "—new orders…Vector…this morning…"

"And?" a female voice prompted.

"Emperor Gestahl…resort…drastic measures…Doma…South Figaro…poison…flush…out…"

There was a long moment of silence.

"General?" a new male voice asked.

"No," the woman said.

The first man spoke again. "Ma'am?"

"—will not…responsible…deaths…" There was another pause. "—will not…blood…women…children…hands…" Her next words were so quiet, the sentry nearly believed he imagined them. "Not again…"

"—Maranda…necessary…"

"—death…never necessary…"

The first man raised his voice in frustration. "Celes, be reasonable!"

"Major Collins!" the second man snapped. "Do not forget you are addressing a _general_."

The sentry listened with growing interest. The Imperial Army was a well-oiled machine not thought to have such dissension in its ranks.

"—apologize, General…remind…Figaro supports…Returners…allow…unpunished?"

"—concern yourself…South Figaro…my judgment…conversation…over."

There was a grumbled assent from Collins, and a closing door signaled the general's exit from the room. A few moments later, Celes emerged from the manor with her two escorting officers, and the sentry saluted. The chill sprang back up, then faded quickly as the blonde strode down the street. As she did, he saw that the back of her cloak was embroidered with the Imperial Eagle intermingled with the marking of Magitek and one other symbol he wasn't familiar with.

Just as the sentry started to relax, he heard hushed voices from the window above him again. One he knew to be Collins, but there were two or three others that he didn't recognize. They spoke in such low tones that he couldn't make out anything they were saying. Finally, a single word jumped out at him:

"—unacceptable…"

The other men's mumbles sounded of agreement. The sentry listened for more, but nothing else was said. Collins and three other officers exited the house and walked down the road. The major spoke to the Armor-mounted soldier, then disappeared around the corner with the others. The Armor also clomped off out of sight.

Interested, the sentry slunk down the path and took a quick glance around. Now there wasn't a single Imperial within a three block radius. Careful to avoid being seen by the two Armors still back at the mansion, the sentry continued down the street to find where the missing patrolmen had gone.

It wasn't long before he found them.

A large throng of Imperial soldiers had begun to form near the center of town—it was then the sentry noticed about a quarter of them were female. A Magitek Armor guarded every intersection leading to it. Curiosity flaring, the sentry pushed his way through the lines of troops towards the inside to see what was happening.

General Chere stood speaking with Collins. The larger built and higher ranking of Celes' escorts was nowhere in sight, and the second eyed the enclosing ring warily.

"With due respect, General, I feel I must remind you of our duty here."

"I am well aware of our duty, Major," Celes assured. "But I don't see releasing poison into the Figaro water supply as a way to flush out the rebels. It would only drive them further into hiding and risk the lives of those that have done no wrong."

"But—"

"I already told you, Major, this was my decision," the general repeated sternly. "I will take full responsibility with the emperor, so do not concern yourself with this any longer."

The major took a couple steps forward, coming well within Celes' personal boundaries. "You of all people know the emperor does not tolerate disloyalty."

Collins did nothing to try to hide the accusation in his statement. The sentry's fascination with the Imperial affair was quickly turning to anxiety. This was not a situation to get mixed up in.

"Disloyalty," Celes echoed, her tone growing deadly. "Treason is a serious accusation, Major. I wouldn't throw the term around so lightly. Stand down." The officer continued his defiant stare, and Celes barked out the command more forcefully. "STAND DOWN, MAJOR!"

Every single man and woman in the vicinity heard the taint of distress crack her voice. Nevertheless, Collins backed off a few steps.

"Captain, detain Major Collins and his men until such a time I see fit to return them to Vector for evaluation." When Captain Brandt didn't respond, Celes turned to him, barely keeping her anger in check. "That's a simple order, Captain."

"But it's not simple, General," Collins answered. "We have our orders, and if you won't carry them out, someone else has to. General Chere, under Imperial Codebook Chapter Twelve, Section Four-A, I'm relieving you of your command."

The blonde's already cold expression grew frigid. "For sparing innocent lives?"

"For ignoring an order of His Majesty Emperor Aurelius Gestahl."

Celes laughed bitterly. "I wasn't aware the Empire had become an army of butchers."

"I wasn't aware the Daughter of Vector showed mercy to the lands that spawn rebellion," Collins retorted. "Captain Lowe, relieve the general of her sword."

The woman's blade was out of its sheath and pointed at the mutinous officer's throat in a fraction of a second. "You're welcome to take it," she dared.

If the general was at all bluffing—and the sentry truly doubted she was—she did a good job hiding it. He could see the mounting tension in the Imperials around him as they shifted nervously from foot to foot. When no one stepped forward, Celes continued in a near snarl.

"I am still the commanding officer here, and I say this is _not_ happening. Anyone care to question?" Silence. "Good. Now, Captain Brandt, I gave you an order."

The officer saluted. "Yes ma'am."

As Brandt stepped up to disarm Collins, Lowe withdrew his riot stick and crashed it down on the other captain's outstretched hand. The cry of pain that followed wrested Celes' attention from Collins, and the major exploited the opportunity. Batting the general's sword away from his neck, Collins drew his own riot stick. He first knocked the blade out of her hand with a blow to her wrist, then quickly struck her across the face.

The sentry watched miserably as the lady general was surrounded by over a dozen of her own troops, all bearing the metal batons. Looking very much the cornered feral cat, Celes' eyes darted from soldier to soldier, carefully assessing her situation. Likewise, the Imperials kept their eyes trained on the general, refusing to give her an inch. Yet not one of them, especially Collins, could conceal their fear.

Challenging a Magitek Knight was clearly not high on their list of life goals.

The sentry briefly closed his eyes in dread when he saw the Imperial directly behind Celes shift his stance in preparation to strike. When the attack came, he unconsciously held his breath, only to let it out in a gasp of surprise.

Without even looking back, Celes swung her right foot behind her in a swift pivot. She caught the Imperial's descending arm and deftly flipped him over her hip to the ground in front of her. A strong side kick to the chest dropped the second soldier to approach, and soon the rest of the ring closed in on her. Brandt and a few others tried to intervene, but they were held back by their mutinous counterparts.

The general put up a valiant fight, her golden gauntlets and shoulder armor taking the brunt of the riot sticks' barrage. Her balance was finally thrown by a jab to her side, just beyond the edge of her breastplate. The soldier who had scored the lucky hit had his nose shattered by her elbow a split second later, but the chain reaction had already begun.

An Imperial with exceptionally large arms swung his riot stick, delivering a devastating blow to Celes' chest. Her breastplate caved in, and all air rushed from her lungs. With a sharp crack, another baton struck her under the chin. As she staggered back, a fourth blow to the back of her right knee collapsed her to the ground.

Two Imperials took her arms to restrain her, but the general struggled fiercely. When another two moved in to hold her down, Celes began muttering words in a tongue the sentry didn't recognize.

"Silencer!" Collins shouted. "Someone get me a silencer!"

An intense blue light erupted from the knight's hands, and an icy blast sent all four Imperials flying back. Her attempt to stand was thwarted by the four new soldiers that forced her back to her knees. Even then, the four men had a hard time containing the general's violent thrashing.

Just as another incantation was about to pass her lips, Celes felt a prick in her neck, and the words died in her throat. Glaring up at Collins, a haze settled in her mind, and she realized the silencer was mixed with a sedative.

The major watched as the drugs took effect. Even as her struggling grew weaker, Collins drew his riot stick. The sentry winced as Celes was struck in her left temple, her body going limp.

"Detain her," Collins ordered Lowe. "She'll be executed at dawn."

"That is not your prerogative!" Brandt cried. "As an Imperial officer, she has right to a fair—"

"Traitors don't get trials," the major interrupted. "So unless any of you wish to join her, I suggest you all get back to your posts."

As the Imperials began to disperse, Lowe motioned to a couple of his underlings. The unconscious general was bound and carried away. Soon, the only person left in the town square was the sentry.

He stood staring in the direction the general had been taken. He knew that this was his opportunity to skip his post without being noticed. He knew it was probably the _only_ opportunity he'd get. Shaking himself out of his stupor, he took one final look down that street, then turned and walked the opposite way.

The sun had long since set by the time he reached his destination; crossing the entire city while avoiding patrolling soldiers had not been easy. He crept through the back door of a darkened house. As soon as the door closed, a young and impatient voice called out to him.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been waiting here for hours!"

"I know, I'm sorry. I got held up."

There was a short squeak, and soon a small lantern flared to life, illuminating the form of a small boy as well as the room in a dim and flickering light.

"Well, come on, then," the boy beckoned. "I wouldn't do this for just anyone, you know."

"And it's much appreciated."

The boy took several books off a large bookshelf and pushed the small panel on the wall behind them. He then opened one of the doors to the cabinet beneath the bookshelf and stood aside. The wall at the back of the cabinet was no longer there, instead opening into a dark passageway.

"This should get you where you need to go. Just be careful when you get to the other side."

"What's on the other side?" the sentry asked.

The boy shook his head. "Sorry. Can't help you with that."

"All right. Thanks, Billy."

"Yeah, yeah. Just get out of here. And don't let any of those Imp. bastards about this."

"You got it."

Getting down on his hands and knees, the sentry crawled through the small cubbyhole. The cabinet door closed behind him, and when he stood, he found an already lit torch hanging from the wall.

"Thanks, kid," he whispered again.

Another hour was spent traversing the winding passage. When it finally ended, the sentry found himself in an underground storage room. Climbing the stairs, he stealthily opened the door and looked outside.

He swore under his breath.

He was back at the Imperial Headquarters, and a Magitek Armor sat less than fifteen yards from the storage room door. Luckily, it faced more or less away from him. Hugging the wall, the sentry inched his way to the door leading into the mansion. Just beyond the door was an empty kitchen.

From what he could tell, about a dozen low-ranking Imperials milled about the main level. Donning a purposeful stride, he left the kitchen and made his way to the stairs leading to the upper level. A couple soldiers glanced his way, but no one moved to stop him.

The first door on the right led to the office where the earlier conversation between officers had taken place. The room was empty. The sentry checked directly across the hall to where the master bedroom was. It, too, was deserted, and blood stained the hardwood floor. He felt a cool draft coming from the far wall and, upon closer inspection, he saw the large bookshelf had been pried away from the wall, revealing a narrow staircase leading down into the cellar.

Cautiously, he descended the steps and soon heard voices coming from within what used to be an armored vault down the hall. Creeping up to the door, the sentry peeked through the small vent.

There the general stood, wide awake and chained to the wall by recently mounted shackles. Her uniform was gone, replaced by a simple brown tunic and pants. Angry bruises marked her face and arms as testament to her brutal capture. The sentry also recognized Major Collins and Captain Lowe.

He bit his tongue. Just a few hours before, he believed he had been walking away from this, but Fate seemed to be toying with him.

"—any idea what you've done?" she was asking them almost jadedly. "Disrupting the chain of command like this is going to have repercussions you can't even fathom."

Collins spoke as if he hadn't even heard her. "It's a shame, really…an Elite Knight reduced to a common traitor and sentenced to the gallows. You're a disgrace to everything you used to serve."

"How is mercy a disgrace?"

"You refused an order."

"I'm not going to order the deaths of thousands of innocent people. Do you think I'm out of my mind?"

"No, I just think you've grown soft."

Lowe walked over, lifted a hand to her face, and brushed a few fingers across her cheek in wonder. "You know, I almost expected you to feel as coarse and brittle as you let on."

Celes pulled her head away with a venomous glare. "To execute a general without trial or the emperor's approval…Gestahl will have your heads for this mutiny."

Collins shook his head. "Not if we offer him yours first, along with the explicit tale of your betrayal. So tell me, with no rank, no weapons, and no hope, what does that leave you with?"

She defiantly stared him in the eye. "Me." A beat of silence. "…and your foul stench."

The echo of his hand connecting with her face sounded throughout the cellar.

"We'll see if you're still laughing tomorrow morning when faced with the gallows. Just a few hours left." With that, Collins turned to leave, stopping momentarily in front of Lowe. "Remind her what happens to traitors."

Lowe saluted. "Yes sir."

The sentry saluted, and the major didn't spare the man a second glance as he exited the cell and ascended the stairwell. The sentry cringed at the abrupt sounds of fist meeting flesh, air rushing from lungs, and rattling of chains. He heard it again and again and again, the sounds repeating themselves at a leisurely pace.

Unable to listen any longer, he walked deeper into the cellar and began his search for the tunnel entrance. Nothing among the haphazard collection crates, chests, shelves, and grandfather clocks stuck out at him as overly unusual or obvious. Of course, he realized that his exploration was only half-hearted. His mind kept wandering back to the general.

Giving up, he sank to the floor between a couple of crates and held his head in his hands. He wasn't sure how much time passed, but he eventually heard the door to the general's cell open and then close. As the captain's footsteps died away, the sentry emerged from his hiding place. Approaching the vault, he peered through the vent once again.

She was kneeling on the cold stone floor, arms chained painfully over her head. Fresh blood trickled from her nose and mouth. Her face was unreadable as she looked up at the chains that bound her, then at the tiny window that would tell her when dawn was approaching. Finally her eyes dropped back down the floor beneath her. Her expression never changed.

The fearsome general had an infamous reputation across the globe, often rivaling, if not exceeding, Kefka's. The sentry had heard her spoken of through many titles. The Heartless. White Raven. Queen of Ice. Butcher of Maranda. Bitch of Vector.

Looking in on her, though, seeing her chained and beaten, she seemed smaller than he thought she'd be. More human. Was it possible to pity someone who did not pity others?

As quietly as he could, he picked the lock of the cell door and walked through, carefully closing it behind him. She didn't look up as he entered the cell nor as he took a few wary steps towards her. Her lack of reaction to his presence made it all the more startling when her voice cut through the stillness.

"You're not an Imperial."

"Is it that obvious?"

"You're the rebel saboteur who has been evading my troops. And with a stolen uniform…good show."

The young man inspected the patch on his uniform. "Apparently my name is Cane. Most people just call me Locke."

"Ethan Cane, Private First Class," Celes recalled. "Twenty-two years old, he's served under me for seven and a half months. I'm assuming he won't make it to eight."

"He's still alive, if that's what you're worried about."

"Then he'll be discharged for incompetence."

"Obviously I haven't given the best first impression," Locke remarked casually. He knelt in front of her. "If I undid those shackles, would you kill me on principle?"

"That depends on what mood I'm in when the chains come off," she replied mirthlessly. She finally looked up and studied him for a moment. "If you were planning to kill me as your final act, I doubt it would do you much good now."

"General, if I was going to kill you, I wouldn't take off your chains. I'm offering to help."

"To what purpose?"

"Your survival?"

Celes grunted in scorn. "People of my rank don't fear death."

"People of your rank don't accept it this easily, either," Locke retorted.

The blonde shook her head in doubt. "And what value is the life of an Imperial to a Returner?"

"I don't want to let someone die again."

Confusion replaced her expression of growing annoyance. "Again…?"

The thief faltered. A distant chime sounded five times, saving him from explanation. "What is that?"

"The bells sound the dawn of a coming execution."

There was the nearly imperceptible change in her tone, the flatness taking on a razor-thin edge of fear.

"General, _please_ let me take you out of here."

The urgency in his tone was accompanied by the footfalls of soldiers in the house above them. The thief looked over his shoulder towards the cell door in concern. When he turned back to Celes, the blonde was staring at her hands.

"I can't wait around. If you're not going to come, then I have to get out of here."

Locke stood up and walked to the door, hesitated, then looked back to Celes. She hadn't moved. He reached for the door handle, hesitated again, and swore softly. He quickly returned to her side.

"Okay, you may not care if you live or die, but I do, so let's go."

The thief quickly picked the locks of her chains. As the metal fell away, he took a hold of the general and began pulling her to her feet, half surprised by her lack of protest. When they got to the door, Locke paused, intently aware of the soldiers' footsteps drawing ever closer.

"There's a passage leading out of the city from this building," he whispered. "Do you know where it is?"

He received a suspicious glance. To his relief, Celes nodded down the hall, deeper into the cellar. Locke took off in that direction, nearly pulling the general along with him. Feeling a sharp tug on his hand, the thief found that Celes had stopped in front of the large grandfather clock standing against the northern wall. Catching her meaningful glance, he searched the clock's structure and soon discovered a draft coming from behind it. Comprehension hit, and Locke quickly began sliding the clock away from the wall, revealing an opening beyond it.

As soon as there was adequate space, Celes slipped through, the thief following closely on her heels. Just as he pulled the clock back into place to seal the entrance, the two heard the shouts of Imperials coming from the cellar; their prisoner was missing.

Locke took a step back from the clock, keeping his eyes fixed on it as if expecting Imperials to come through any second. It was then he noticed the lit torches lining the walls of the passage.

"Imperials patrol this, don't they?" he guessed in dread.

Celes opened her mouth, but a low growl from behind them changed her reply. "Don't. Move."

Despite her warning, Locke swung himself around. An instant later, the Vector hound lunged forward and latched onto the thief's left arm. His yelp of pain was drowned out by a stern command from the general.

"_Aus!_"

The canine immediately released Locke's arm and returned to its threatening stance in front of him. To his credit, the thief managed to remain quiet and still this time.

"_Voran._"

The hound broke from its position and stalked up the hallway to resume its search of other intruders. Both watched it go until it disappeared around the corner. Even then, the general continued to stare down the passage, not seeing Locke sink to one knee as he cradled his arm.

"Are you deaf?" she snapped irritably. "I told you not to move."

"I panicked," he explained through grit teeth. "I'm sorry."

Celes whipped around to face him, a sharp reply on the tip of her tongue, but she bit down on the urge when she saw the blood flowing freely down the thief's arm. Somewhat wearily, she knelt down next to him.

"Look, if you want to play hero, fine. Just remember that I know the Empire and its subjects better than you ever will."

Locke nodded but didn't say anything. Celes took his arm and gave a quick once-over. The muscle on his forearm was nearly torn off the bone, and at least one major vein had been severed.

"I can't do anything for this now," she told him. "The silencer they gave me hasn't worn off yet."

The general stood, trying to hide her wince as her broken ribs shifted. "We'll have to move fast. The blood will attract the dogs like sharks."

As she spoke. Locke removed his helmet and slipped off his bandana. As best he could with one hand, he tied the worn cloth around his wound and hoped it would be enough to slow the bleeding.

He noticed Celes' contemplative expression. "Which way?"

The general shifted her gaze to the intersection a few paces ahead. "…left."

Locke sent her a skeptical look. "You have no idea, do you?" She didn't answer. "Wonderful."

The Returner staggered to his feet, and the two made the left turn. No longer than two minutes of navigating the maze of hallways passed before a firm voice called out behind them.

"Halt!"

The order was accompanied by the whine of Magitek rifles charging. Locke followed Celes' lead as she slowly turned around to face the sentries. Over the rifles leveled at her, the general recognized them as Sergeants Nicholas Harp and Cassandra Pike.

"General Chere," Pike acknowledged in mild surprise, lowering her weapon.

Harp mirrored the gesture, though he eyed the thief-in-disguise suspiciously. "With all due respect, ma'am, I thought you were under house arrest."

"It's been resolved," Celes lied.

Pike faltered. "I…I'm afraid I'll have to escort you both up to headquarters to get this sorted out. I'm sorry, General, but—"

"It's protocol," Celes finished evenly. She put a hand on Pike's shoulder. "I understand."

The general's hand became a blur. A distinct crack echoed through the hallway, and Pike fell limp to the ground. Harp raised his Magitek rifle. Before he could take aim, though, Locke charged into him and tackled him to the ground.

Pulling his arms free, Harp struck the thief across the chin with the butt of the rifle. Locke drew his dirk, but the Imperial bashed his hand into the ground, and the weapon fell out of the Returner's fingers and slid across the floor. The men wrestled for dominance, but Harp, being the larger of the two, maintained the upper hand.

The thief tried to roll out from under the soldier, but Harp caught him and locked an arm around the Returner's neck. Pinned down, Locke desperately reached for his dirk, which lay just beyond his grasp. With his air supply cut off, the thief began to black out when he was suddenly released. Coughing, he scrambled away from the Imperial, only to look back and find Harp face down on the ground with Locke's own dirk embedded in his back.

Locke stared at the Imperial in confusion for several seconds before looking up. Celes stood motionless as she gazed down at the two soldiers' bodies, both dead by her hand.

Massaging his throat, the thief got to his feet. "General?"

Locke touched a hand to her arm and then gave a light prod. Though she didn't respond, he chose not to press.

Finally Celes stirred, crouching down to take what she needed from the fallen woman. Pike's brown leather jerkin was buckled over Celes' own tunic. The general strapped on the soldier's bronze shoulder armor and gauntlets. Lastly, Celes slipped Pike's brown leather boots onto her bare feet and stood up, holding the other woman's weapon and sword belt.

Locke drew in breath to express his sympathies for her plight, but the general spoke first.

"Apologize, and I'll kill you."

She brushed past him, buckling the sword belt over her shoulder and across her torso as she went. Retrieving his dagger, Locke spared the lifeless Imperials a final look before turning to catch up with Celes.

Without another word, the two ventured further into the catacombs beneath South Figaro, barely avoiding two more Imperial patrols. The winding hallways eventually came to a stairwell that led to a small room even deeper underground. Taking up the entire space was a squat circular wall of gray stone.

"A well?" Locke wondered with a questioning glance to his companion.

The general sent him a pointed look, and he peered into the darkened hole. The soft trickle of a stream could be heard, and from the sound, the treasure hunter guessed the well didn't run very deep. Celes lifted a conveniently placed torch from its holder on the wall and handed it to him.

With a small shrug to himself, Locke dropped down into the well, landing with a large splash in three feet of water. He happily noted the stream was relatively warm as he stepped to the side and waited for Celes to follow. When she landed, the impact jolted her ribs, and she grunted in pain.

Locke looked at her in concern. "Are you okay?"

He reached out to her, but she pushed his arm away. "Fine," she answered shakily.

A spell of lightheadedness overtook her, and she clenched her eyes shut against the impending nausea. This time, she didn't object when the Returner moved to steady her.

"Are you going to be able to walk?"

After a short delay, Celes nodded in reply. Locke looked first upstream and then downstream to get his bearings. Quite abruptly, he realized the water had grown colder and sent a curious sidelong glance to the general.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing." He turned upstream. "Come on. This way."

They waded through the water along the narrow channel until it cut across an adjacent path. Relying on instinct from years of cave exploration, Locke veered into the left passage. After following several twists and turns, the treasure hunter paused at a trail junction.

"Wait…" He held the torch up and looked around. "I know this place. These caves lead to the desert around Figaro Castle." He steered them down a familiar passage. "There should be a spring up ahead. We can rest there."

As predicted, a small spring came into view a short while later, and it was pride alone that kept Celes from collapsing onto its sandy bank in exhaustion. Slowly kneeling down, she slipped off her gauntlets. Unbuckling her Imperial armor, she began to lift it from her shoulders, but the stretching motion only increased her misery as her chest continued to burn. She bit back a groan, but it didn't go unnoticed.

"Do you need any help?" Locke asked as he also removed his Imperial armor.

"I told you I'm fine," she hissed, more out of pain than anger.

Though unconvinced, the thief let the general be, instead turning his attention to his own wound.

With the thief's focus no longer on her, Celes stared at her reflection on the water's surface. She was a walking bruise, the most prominent of which nearly swelling her left eye shut. Her bottom lip was split, and there was a gash both above her right eye and on her left temple. With each breath, the sharp pain of her fractured ribs was refreshed, and the faint desire to pass out lingered on the edge of her mind.

When she could no longer bear the sight of that reflection, she broke the image with her hands. She remained like that for several minutes, her hands trailing in the liquid mirror, and a chill gradually permeated the water as though from her very fingertips. Celes splashed the cooled water into her face and cleansed away the blood and grime of her imprisonment.

With beads of water still dripping down her face, the general stared at her hand, looking like she was trying to puzzle something out.

"What is it?" Locke asked.

She didn't answer right away. Her hand felt strange—kind of prickly—as though it was waking up after being numb for hours. Soon, she felt the sensation all over her body.

The silencer was finally wearing off.

She glanced at Locke. "Give me your arm."

The thief complied without question. Celes took hold of his wrist in one hand, letting the fingertips of her other hand brush over his still-bleeding wound as she whispered words he had heard only one other speak. A soft green light glowed beneath her palm, and as he watched, the shreds of his mangled flesh joined, reconnecting tissue with tissue, muscle with bone. The bleeding stopped, and broken skin receded to its former placement, bonding with its neighbors. Soon, all that remained were thin red lines zigzagging across his arm where the Vector hound's teeth had ripped through.

The green glow faded, and Celes lowered her hands. As she leaned back against the cold stone of the cave wall, Locke noticed the gashes on her face had closed and healed as well.

"Thanks," Locke said after a moment. "Not just for this, but for before with the dog and…well, you know."

"We're even now," she replied flatly.

Taking the cue to let the subject drop, Locke pulled a couple ration bars from his pack and handed one to Celes. "Nicked these from Cane when I stole the uniform. It's not much, but at least it's something to eat, right?" He sat back and peeled the wrapper from his, watching in amusement as Celes looked at hers with unconcealed disgust.

"These things taste like cardboard."

"Hey, I gave you the triple berry. If you don't want it, I'll trade you for the oatmeal."

"I might actually prefer the cardboard."

The thief chuckled and nibbled tentatively on his bar. His face scrunched up in distaste, and he fought the urge to spit it out. As time passed, he periodically glanced up at Celes, studied her for a few moments, then turned back to his ration bar.

Finally, Celes sighed. "What do you want?"

The thief answered as though he had anticipated the question. "Come with me to Narshe."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I thought you might be willing to help us?"

"And why would I want to do that?"

"You just…you seem like too good a person to be working for the Empire."

"I'm not."

"Then why disobey an order?"

She gave a bitter laugh. "Don't be so quick to judge me based on one isolated decision. I've made a thousand others that ensure my damnation."

"That's a little pessimistic."

"It's realistic," she corrected.

"You'd be an invaluable ally."

"And here we find the true value of an Imperial to a Returner. You want me to betray the closest thing I have to family."

Locke scoffed. "You call that family? They tried to kill you."

"So have a lot of people. It's the way of the world, so you'll excuse me if I don't jump at the chance to trust you and your little rebel band. I doubt you'd understand," Celes muttered, shaking her head.

"I wouldn't?"

"Not even if you tried."

"Afraid to let me?"

She fixed him with a deadly glare. "I suggest you get out of my sight before my strength returns."

Locke ignored the chill that ran up his spine. "I can't. I'd be breaking my promise."

Her anger was again replaced by puzzlement. "…you didn't make me a promise."

The thief averted his gaze. "I didn't say it was to you…"

"Ah… Then who are you trying to save if not me?"

Locke cursed to himself. "Why do you care?" he countered.

"I just want to know what I'm getting myself into."

"If you don't share, I don't share. All right?"

Celes was quiet for a moment. "…fair enough."

She stood, albeit with some effort. Before she could take two steps, though, Locke was already on his feet blocking her path.

"What are you doing?" he asked

"Leaving."

"What? Why?"

"I don't plan to rush headlong into a web of secrets and twisted fantasies."

"But…where would you go? The only way west is through Figaro, and you can't go back east because the Imperials will be looking for you. That leaves north, which is where I'm headed, so you might as well just come with me."

As she stared at him, Locke could practically see the gears turning in her mind, trying to come up with a way to refute his logic.

"Let's say, hypothetically, I follow you north," Celes began. "Answer me this: where could I go then?"

"Well…you could go southeast to Nikeah—"

"And then what? Buy a house and settle down?" She sneered at the idea. "Or maybe take a ferry east towards Doma? I'd be massacred."

"Where is it you _want_ to go?"

"Home," she answered simply. "I want to go home."

"To Vector."

"Yes, to Vector. Maybe then I could get things straightened out."

"Or you could get very dead." Celes looked away and didn't reply. "Look…if you come with me, I might be able to get you safe passage through Figaro. Then, if you want, you can go your own way."

With that said, Locke returned to his spot on the ground. After a long hesitation, Celes sat down as well but did so without any indication that she had reached a decision. Before long, the exhausted Imperial surrendered to sleep's embrace while the Returner fought to stay awake so he could keep watch. He knew he shouldn't drop his guard, especially with the general, but sleep ultimately overtook him.

When he awoke the next morning, he found Celes already geared up and looking much more refreshed. She waited patiently while he assembled his own gear. When he finished his preparations, Locke stood and looked expectantly at Celes.

"No promises," she said simply.

The thief nodded in acknowledgment, and the two made for the desert expanse of Figaro.

* * *

_Author's Note: The German obedience commands Celes uses with the Vector hound are "Out" and "Go on" respectively._


	2. Resistance

**Part II: Resistance**

Narshe was a simple place. The men worked hard as miners or blacksmiths or engineers to keep their wives and children comfortable at home. Steam was a constant element as it rose from the droning engines that ran the town. So close to the world's northern pole, it was a region of near-perpetual night that time of year. Rare was the day it was anything but a cold flurry.

The sounds of wild barking, angry shouts, and gunpowder rifle shots broke the calmness. Rapid footfalls pounded heavily on the snow-covered ground. A figure in a brown uniform and bronze armor cut around the corner of the academy and pressed his back to the building. A second, more slender but similarly-dressed figure followed and hid against the building next to him.

A sharp whistle sounded, and the barking ceased. Insistent whines were accompanied by the jingle of chains and the sound of metal clasps being fastened. The four-legged pursuers retreated back along the snowy path at the heels of their masters, and all was quiet again.

"I really hate dogs," Locke muttered.

His female companion gave him a funny look, then shook it off. "I thought you said your allies were waiting for you here."

"They are." Locke adjusted his bandana. "Hopefully," he added under his breath. "The Narshe Guard just hasn't been the friendliest recently…"

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!" he replied indignantly.

"Right." The woman looked down at herself. "I suppose the Imperial uniforms don't help."

"Narshe is neutral," he explained in agreement. "Technically, the Returners aren't supposed to be operating here either."

"But they have been…?"

"…possibly…"

Celes sighed. "What now?"

"We'll just have to take the scenic route." As he turned toward the western side of the town, he shivered and glanced at his companion. "Aren't you freezing?" She gave him a look. "Oh. Right."

"You could have bought a cloak from that traveling merchant," she reminded as they walked.

"Do I look like I have money?"

"Fine, you could have _stolen_ a cloak from that traveling merchant."

Locke stopped when they reached a particular point along the rocky mountain face. "Been there, done that," he murmured to himself.

"What?"

"I didn't think you'd like that," he said aloud as he fiddled with something concealed in the rock.

"Do I look like I have morals?" Celes countered in a blatant imitation of the thief.

Locke paused and looked at the blonde. "I'm deeply offended by that."

"You would be," Celes shot back.

Trying to cover the grin playing across his face, the thief resumed his task. Soon, a section of rock slid aside, revealing a hidden entrance to the mines.

"What is it with you and secret passages?"

Locke shrugged. "Treasure hunter." With a wink, he slipped through the crevice.

Celes shook her head. "I hope you don't expect me to swoon," she called into the darkened mine.

"I'd be shocked," came the reply.

The general almost smiled at that. Almost.

A few seconds later, a soft glow filled the corridor as Locke activated the lamplights hanging along the walls. The thief poked his head back out into the bitter Narshe air.

"You coming, or are you going to stand out in the freezing snow all day?"

"I happen to enjoy the cold."

"You would."

With a smirk, Locke disappeared back into the mine. Celes took one last breath of fresh air before entering the dim passage. Nearly choking on the thick coal dust, she once again fell into step behind the thief. It felt odd to her; she was used to being the one in the lead.

"We could have taken those guards," she said after a while.

"Before or after we were _eaten_?"

"You really need to get over that."

"And you need to get over your urge to kill things."

"I do not have an urge to kill things."

Even as she spoke, Celes drew her sword and thrust it into a dark corner of the mine. A sharp squeal pierced the tunnels before quickly dying out. As she retracted her blade and sheathed it, she found Locke staring at her.

"Rat," she explained.

Locke merely switched his gaze from the general to the skewered rodent and back to the general.

She crossed her arms, indignant. "Well, I haven't killed _you_ yet."

The thief continued to stare at her. Then without a word, he went back to navigating the familiar passage. A few more turns led them out into the open air. A bridge stood before them that seemed to stretch over half the town.

"Just over there, now," Locke told Celes.

When they were sure no guardsmen were in the vicinity, they crossed the creaking wood bridge with soft steps. Soon, they arrived at the backdoor of a house, which was owned by a man Locke had named as Arvis.

Entering the house, the thief silently stalked through the darkened quarters. Voices could be heard in the room beyond. With Celes following behind him, Locke slipped through another doorway into the living area, unnoticed by the people standing and arguing within.

The elder was easy for Celes to pick out: an aged man dead center in the room and flanked by two men no younger—his advisors, no doubt. Two guardsmen stood at the wall behind the politicians.

Opposite them was a middle-aged man, his yellow hair and beard so bushy she could scarcely see his face: the infamous Banon Montego, if she was correct. Directly between the rebel leader and the elder, a man in his forties sat in a chair as though acting as a mediator of sorts. Arvis, perhaps. Scattered around the room were various men and woman of no visual significance, most likely grunts of the rebel force. Three, however, stood out of place.

Next to Banon, a man no older than thirty stood tall, his sapphire robes and gold armor too ornate to be those of a mere soldier. Her eyes landed on the crest of a crowned griffin and held back a sigh; the king of Figaro would do well to lessen his appearance.

Close by was an equally young man bearing a striking resemblance to Edgar. Generously muscled shoulders, arms, and torso were unmistakably those belonging to a warrior, but his apparel marked him more of a monk. She had heard of these blitz masters but had never had the misfortune of meeting one on the battlefield.

The third odd presence was a young boy, barely in his teens from the look of it. Perhaps a hunter of sorts, as he was clad in the hides of many beasts. He sat on his haunches, perched atop a desk as he watched the debate progress.

She turned her attention back to the elder as he spoke.

"That Esper cannot stay in Narshe. Even if we had the resources to guard it, I would not subject the people of this town to the Empire's wrath!"

"Gestahl will stop at nothing to obtain that creature," Banon stated firmly. "Your neutrality in the matter will not save your people."

Edgar stared at the floor. "I fear not much can at this point. We can only hope that Locke's efforts in South Figaro will echo throughout their forces."

Banon glanced at the king. "How do we even know Locke survived long enough to cause damage at all?"

"I thought you had more faith in me than _that_…"

Edgar turned towards the familiar voice. "Locke! You reckless, conniving little thief." The thief in question touched a hand to his chest in insult, and the king began to grin. "I honestly wasn't sure you'd make it."

"Did you expect any less from a _treasure hunter_ extraordinaire?" Locke asked, stressing the title.

The king chuckled. "Absolutely not." He looked his friend up and down. "What's with the uniform?"

"Did some undercover work."

"Ah, of course." The young monarch gave Celes a once over as well, his eyes brightening. "Hello. Have we met?"

"Ed…"

Edgar continued, ignoring the thief. "I seldom forget an angelic maiden such as you..."

Locke groaned.

Celes spared the king a withering glance. "What makes you think I'm either of those things?"

Edgar blinked. It was not a reply he was expecting. A blush, perhaps a timid smile, yes, but not so brusque a statement. "Forgive me. You just look familiar."

"As she should," a deep voice confirmed. From the shadows of the back wall, a muscular man, later in years but clearly a warrior, stepped forward. Clad in heavy cobalt-blue armor, he proudly displayed the emblem of a winding dragon upon his chest. A long katana rested at his side. "Celes Chere, Daughter of Vector: an elite general of the Empire."

Edgar's charming smile turned sour, and Locke cringed under the king's glare. Unnoticed by the Returners, the nearly fuming elder sent a gesture to one of his guards, who promptly left the house.

"I see you've heard of me," Celes responded dryly.

"There are few who have not," the man answered, refusing to match her sarcasm.

"And you must be Cyan Garamonde, retainer to the throne of Doma," she returned in kind. "Tell me, Lord Garamonde, what's a man of your stature doing so far from your kingdom? Shouldn't you be back home _retaining_?"

"If there were a kingdom left to retain, aye."

The general hesitated, recalling the orders she received in South Figaro. "Doma was poisoned…" The man's only response was a slight lowering of his gaze. Celes unconsciously mirrored the gesture. "I don't understand. Leo was commanding that garrison."

"General Cristophe was called away," the king's brother, Sabin, told her. "It was Kefka…"

Celes bristled slightly at the mention of the jester. "…I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing," Cyan snapped. "I would not take false sympathy from an Imperial dog."

"Look, Garamonde, I'll be the first to admit that order was appalling—"

"Aye, and the last to do anything about it," the Doman retorted.

"Hey!" Locke yelled, finally stepping in. "Refusing that order it is what almost landed her at the gallows."

"Hmph." Cyan crossed his arms. "Did the Butcher of Maranda lose her nerve?" he taunted.

"Would you like to lose your head?" Celes growled back.

"I do not fear thee, Imperial Spawn."

Meanwhile, the king of Figaro confronted the thief.

"What is that woman doing here?" Edgar demanded.

Locke upturned his hands in a beseeching manner. "She has nowhere else to go."

"So you decided to bring a general of the Empire _here_? What the hell were you thinking?"

"Edgar, she was condemned for showing mercy to _your_ city."

That gave the king pause, but only for a moment. "Is that reason enough to bring her here?"

"Is it reason enough to let her die?" Locke threw back in anger.

At that precise moment, the front door burst open, and six members of the Narshe Guard filed in, weapons drawn and aimed at Celes. The general took a step back and threw an acidic glare at the elder.

Ironically, Banon did the same. "What is the meaning of this?"

The elder gestured towards the general. "I cannot allow another officer of the Empire to go unchecked in my city."

"Elder, we don't have time for this."

Cyan slid his katana from its casing at his side. "I offer thee my aid. Death to all Imperials."

To say Celes looked worried may have been an overstatement, but she certainly didn't look pleased. She lifted her own sword from its sheath on her back, raising it in both hands level to the ground.

Locke foolishly jumped between her and the guardsmen. "Come on, guys, let's not do this now!"

The elder nodded to his men. "Take her."

Despite his physical protests, the thief was easily pushed out of the way. As the guards converged on the general, Locke turned to his longtime friend. "Edgar?" No response. "_Ed, please_!"

"It's out of my hands, Locke."

Dread filling his mind, the thief turned in time to see one guard batted aside and another thrown to the ground. Their short swords were deflected with ease by the skilled Imperial, and Locke noted with some relief that the general was not yet using her blade to its full capacity. As the guardsmen grew more forceful, however, so did Celes.

A sentry landed hard next to Arvis' chair, and the mediator leapt to his feet. "Elder, stop this before someone gets killed!"

The man went unheeded. One by one, the defenders of Narshe fell with broken noses, slashed legs, or simply rough impacts with the wall or floor keeping them down. The six men crawled out of harm's way as best they could as the Doman retainer entered Celes' circle.

Katana rose to meet broadsword.

Seconds ticked by as the two warriors stared each other down over their crossed blades, both silently daring the other to make the first move.

A twitch of a finger. An increased breath. An faint shift in weight. A flicker of the eyes. Whatever signal it was that triggered a reaction was indecipherable to those watching, and none knew who struck first.

Two blades clashed three times. The two warriors began to circle. Weapons again lashed out, striking like serpents: short, rapid, precise jabs that tested the other's reflexes and technique. The Doman was showing a lack in speed, while the Imperial had yet to betray any weakness.

With a defiant scowl, Cyan lifted his katana above his head into a high guard, generously muscled arms flexed to their fullest and intimidating to any man.

A tight smile spread across Celes' expression.

Slowly, deliberately, she mimicked the Doman's stance. It quickly became apparent the young general was not slightly built. Surprising muscle tone rippled under smooth skin as she again stood in wait.

This time, Cyan clearly moved first, his katana raining down on his foe with greater force. Celes' sword barred its path at shoulder level thrice in succession, and their circling resumed. A hailstorm of blows followed, easily met and deflected as the blonde danced around the older knight.

Cyan paused, glowering as the general merely waited patiently, swords still held high. Her calmness did not sit well with him, and the intermission was short lived.

Like hawks, the two blades plummeted, arcing down on each warrior's right and clashing at knee level. They flew up only to come swinging back down on the opposite side, the Doman's katana clanging heavily against the Imperial's lighter broadsword.

As soon as the two blades ricocheted off each other, Cyan pulled his katana up in a tight horizontal arc, intent on severing the general's head from her body. Celes. however, ducked beneath the attack and pivoted around beside the Doman, backhanding him with the pommel of her sword. Cyan staggered back a few steps and touched a hand to his lip.

The blood on his fingers only enraged him.

Inverting his hold on his katana and bracing his right forearm with his left hand, Cyan launched forward with tremendous speed. With a mighty cleave, he bore the devastation of _Fang_ down on the general. Celes had only enough time to mirror Cyan's grip, bringing her sword up in front of herself in vain attempt to defend.

The sharper sturdier katana carved through the general's sword and gauntlet deep into her forearm. The sheer force of Cyan's attack threw her onto her back, and she slid several paces across the floor. The Doman wasted no time in closing the distance between them. Even as the woman tried to drag herself to her feet with blood streaming down her arm, Cyan grabbed her by the throat and lifted her up. Her broken sword fell from her fingers and clattered to the ground.

"Cyan, that's enough!" Sabin shouted.

Locke took a more direct approach and drew his dirk. However, he didn't get very far before he was halted by a couple of the recovered guardsmen.

Though injured and weaponless, Celes was far from beaten. Breaking free of the Doman's hold, she delivered a few sharp blows to his jaw and an elbow to his nose. Stunned, Cyan couldn't react as the Imperial grasped his weapon-bearing arm and flipped him over her hip to the ground. When the Doman regained his bearings and looked up, he found his own katana pointed at him. Nevertheless, he stood, fearless and unwilling to concede.

Celes released her severely weakened arm, dropping the weapon from Cyan's neck. Just as quickly, though, she pivoted and raised her left hand, a white mist glowing at her fingertips. "I tire of this."

From the doorway of the darkened bedroom, a young woman with vibrant green hair rushed over and tried to lower the general's arm. "Stop it! What are you—"

The rest of Terra's plea died in her throat when her eyes met Celes'. Images of a forgotten past flashed in her mind: a blonde cadet, cold even in her youth, defeating her at swordplay; the same blonde, now an officer, helping her to her feet after a rough encounter; standing in the shadows behind the newest Triumvirate of Generals as the robe-clad emperor addressed a vast army; saluting the three generals, but not of her own will.

Now ignoring the Doman, Celes relaxed her stance in surprise. "Terra?"

The younger mage took a step back from the blonde Imperial, confusion etched on her face. "I…I know you…"

Celes studied her expression. "You don't remember…?" She nodded to herself. "…the slave crown…"

Locke switched his gaze between the two women. "You two know each other?"

Any answer was cut off by the enraged elder. "You brought the Imperial witch back to my town as well?"

Cyan fixed Terra with a deadly glare, a look of betrayal flashing in his eyes. "I was not aware the Returners consorted so readily with Vector dogs. This is unacceptable."

Before a single step could be taken, the Doman found himself shoved back against the wall, his own katana grazing his throat.

Now, Cyan Garamonde was a large man: a head taller than Sabin with shoulders just as broad and arms nearly as thick. Said to have the strength of ten men, the passing of time had done nothing to wither him, mind or body. His black mustache did not soften the strong set of his jaw nor hide the scars from his long years of service. His eyes, nearly black in the dim dwelling, had not lost the fierceness of their gaze.

Not many would elect to stand in his path, and even fewer would live to tell about it. Yet, not a single person in the room could believe his eyes as he watched a teenage girl half the Doman's size challenge him with neither quiver nor fear. The general matched the Doman's intimidating presence with apparent ease.

"Give me a reason, Garamonde," Celes dared as she pressed the blade to his throat. "Just give me a reason."

In the years to come, there would be those that would swear over a mug of ale how they saw the Doman blink. Others would claim it was just a trick of the light. None, however, would deny the sudden chill they felt saturate the room in those few moments of tension.

With a gentle pull on the arm from Terra, the Vectoran general released the Doman warrior. Reluctantly, the katana was handed back to Cyan, who took it mutely.

Banon cleared his throat. "Now, if that's all settled, I'd like to propose we continue our previous discussion like civilized adults."

The elder crossed his arms. "I will not discuss anything with those savages here."

The head Returner pinched the bridge of his nose.

Celes looked up from her slashed arm but said nothing. Her attention was pulled back to her wound as Terra lay a heated hand on her icy skin. At the younger mage's word, torn flesh was sewn back together until all that remained was an angry red scar and a tingling sensation. The blonde watched her fellow Imperial for a moment, but Terra kept her eyes averted as though in shame.

"They're unnatural," the elder continued. "Witches. Butchers."

Finally having heard enough, Celes stalked over to the Narshe dignitary, keeping her voice unnervingly low. "Allow me to remind you of something. I could have killed every single one of your men, but I didn't. So let me make something very clear to you. Terra was not in control of the things she has done. I was, and I strongly suggest you start making the distinction."

She started towards the door while everyone watched in silence. Everyone except Locke.

"Celes—"

"I told you there were no promises," she interrupted. "I'll find my own way."

After a moment's consideration, Terra grabbed her cloak and moved to follow Celes. Just shy of the door, the general stopped and turned to the younger woman.

"What are you doing?"

"Going with you."

Several mouths dropped open in shock. Celes merely stared. "Why?"

Terra faltered, not really having an answer she knew how to explain. "I guess…it feels right. I don't remember much, and what I do comes in flashes, feelings, but… You were always…there. You always protected me. That much I know."

The general didn't meet her gaze. "…I can't protect you now."

Without another word, Celes made her exit, leaving the saddened girl behind. The cold northern air embraced her as she stepped into it, and she breathed deeply. The gentle snowfall had picked up a bit, an intermittent stiff wind churning up spirals of the white powder.

Her aggravation somewhat soothed, the blonde started towards the south gate. Through the blowing snow, she almost overlooked it: a flickering glow too bright to be reflected starlight, not to mention the heavy overcast blocking the heavens. Celes stood still and peered through the mounting flurry.

The burden of unease filled the pit of her stomach.

Hundreds of torches lit up the valley. An entire battalion of Imperial infantry stood before the mountains of Narshe, red flags marking their encampment. Celes almost spit at the sight of the crimson cloth.

Each general represented a different shade of the Empire. She herself rode under a black banner: the symbol of fearless power and determination. Leo flew gold; the strength and valor of the Vectoran lands. That left only red—the color of blood and ambition.

With an Imperial regiment on Narshe's doorstep, the general turned her attention to the mining town itself. From her vantage point, Celes could make out the shapes of about a dozen men in brown uniforms scattered among the buildings and steam engines below. The bodies of gray-clad Narshe guards lay still on the ground, scarlet pools staining the white snow beneath them.

Imperial scouts had already infiltrated the town.

Keeping to the shadows, she began to make her way across Narshe's upper level towards the front gates. She cursed as she drew closer. Four Magitek Armors stood posted on either side of the valley entrance, and mounted sentries patrolled the lower grounds. The beasts on which they rode appeared as smaller cousins of the giant behemoths from ancient times: a demonic lion with razor fangs and dagger-like talons. A brittle mane of coarse fur blazed all the way down the beast's back to its muscular spiked tail. The sentries themselves bore heavy combat armor and massive spears and were known for their brutality on the battlefield.

It was an archaic military faction, now deployed only when terrain proved a possible hindrance to the Armors. Certainly more primitive than the Magitek division but with no less carnage in its wake.

Imperial Hell Riders. Not something Celes wanted to run into.

She herself had witnessed the gore of an IHR attack just once, during the siege of a mountain settlement on the Imperial Continent. She had been fifteen and a major at the time, and it was one of the few things that could still make the impassive general shudder.

With measured hesitation, Celes glanced back at the dwelling she had come from. Her indecision was disrupted by the sight of an Imperial patrolman approaching the front door.

She cursed.

Within Arvis' home and ignorant of the city's breach, the elder's stubbornness had not lessened. "I have faith in the sanctity of our neutrality."

"And if you're wrong?" Banon challenged. "If the emperor sends his legions against you?"

For several moments, no one said a word.

A distinct _thud_ broke the hush. "The Empire is already here."

Everyone's attention was immediately pulled to the door where Celes stood, the body of the Imperial sentinel at her feet.

Locke recovered first. "I thought you were leaving."

"I don't fancy walking up to an Imperial battalion to say hello."

Cyan huffed. "…Vector whore…"

Celes fought an exasperated sigh. "I didn't bring them here if that's what you're thinking. They're flying red banners."

"Kefka's colors," Edgar breathed. The general nodded in confirmation. "He's here for Terra…"

"He's here for the Esper," Celes corrected. "This operation was set up weeks ago; he has no idea Terra is here." She paused. "He will, though."

Locke stared at her in disbelief. "…and you just _now_ decide to let us know?"

She ignored his betrayed tone as she bent down to retrieve the soldier's sword. She placed it in the empty sheath on her back. "I have no obligation to tell you anything. Besides, I assumed you would expect the Empire to come back for that thing."

"We did, " Edgar answered. "I just thought we'd have a bit more warning…"

The general looked up from the replacement gauntlet she was buckling on. "What were you waiting for? A smoke signal?"

The elder shook his head in disbelief. "We have sentries posted—"

"Your sentries were dead before they knew what hit them." She was met with stunned silence. "This is the Imperial Armed Forces, gentlemen, not an amateur militia. And with Kefka leading them, there is no warning, no negotiation, no truce. Only slaughter."

After a long moment of deliberation, Edgar slowly uncrossed his arms. "The Esper…we can't let him have it." He was answered by various murmurs of agreement, and he turned to Celes. "General—"

"Don't look to me. I'm not getting involved."

Banon fixed her with a questioning look. "It would seem to me you already are."

"I was a general of the Empire," she stated firmly. "This isn't my fight."

"And if Kefka's men don't see it that way?"

Celes looked away. "My problems are my own."

Banon nodded to himself. "I see." The disappointment in his eyes was soon replaced by determination. He turned to the elder, all pretense of diplomacy vanished. "Argyle, where is the Esper?"

"We moved it up to the northern cliffs."

"Then that's where we make our stand. Arvis, start moving our forces into the hills. We have an Esper to protect."

"Yes, sir."

As Arvis left, Banon again addressed the elder. "Gather what men you have left and prepare to defend the city."

Long since convinced, the elder motioned to his accompanying guards to carry out the order.

Edgar turned to the core members of his team. "Let's gear up."

Celes watched with a measure of indifference as the Returners donned their weapons, armor, and cloaks. Within minutes, they were marching through the mines and up the mountain, passing by Narshe guardsmen and Returner fighters. Soon, the sounds of rifle fire and clashing swords rose up behind them. Their pace quickened.

Terra fell into step beside Celes. "You can use magic…?" the girl wondered.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"…I was raised as a Magitek Knight from the moment I was born. Artificial infusion of magic was the latest experiment back then."

"A soldier since birth… You never even had a childhood…"

Celes was silent as they climbed the stone steps leading up to the mountain pass. "Neither did you. There will come a day when you'll remember that."

Terra didn't respond as they entered a maze of ice and stone. The paths were narrow, slippery and treacherous. It would be where the Returners would make their stand.

"This ground is perfect," Edgar said. "We can bottleneck them and take them out in small numbers at a time."

They reached the highlands, just before the wooden bridge leading to the cliff. Checking their weapons one last time, the Returners took their positions along the various exits of the maze. Banon stood back, flanked by two of his men. Celes hung back as well, looking almost disinterested as she leaned against a formation of stone.

The seconds ticked by, and the sounds of the skirmishes below grew louder. Then, the gunfire stopped. Less than a minute passed before movement was seen down at the steps. They watched nervously as rank after rank of men in brown lined up at the foot of the hill. Locke nearly jumped as Celes stepped up next to him, her arms crossed and eyes fixed on the assembling army.

"You're not going to survive," she said simply.

"Thank you," he replied dryly. "Your optimism is overwhelming."

"Here they come!" Edgar shouted.

Locke watched as close to two hundred Imperials began their ascent up the hill. He turned back to Celes to ask for her help one last time, but she was no longer standing next to him. He gripped his dirk just a little tighter, biting down on the sharp edge of panic. It wasn't long before the first wave of soldiers was upon them.

As the battle unfolded, Celes stood back, conflicted. It was unnatural, twisted for a knight of her rank to be watching her brethren's assault from behind her own enemy's lines, but she was uncertain to which side she now belonged. She knew full well the Empire's policy on dealing with traitors, convicted or not. The Imperials would not hesitate to kill her, and the rebels wanted her only slightly less dead.

The third and fourth waves were reaching the summit. The core Returners were holding strong, but they had already lost half of the rest of their numbers. They were outnumbered three to one.

The general sighed. At the present moment, dignity and allegiance were giving way to self-preservation.

A ground sniper paused his forward stride and raised his Magitek rifle, the thief in his sights.

"Locke, on your left!" Sabin warned.

The thief reacted too slowly. A blur came up behind him, grabbed the spare dirk from his belt, and hurled it at the Imperial. The soldier sank down, the blade embedded in his neck.

Locke looked at Celes, the shock settling in. "I thought this wasn't your fight."

Several shouts from the Imperial lines alerted the two that the general had been recognized. "Arrest her! Kill her if you have to!"

"It is now," the blonde muttered.

She drew her sword and stepped out to meet the advancing unit. Giving her blade a few twirls, she extended her empty hand towards the soldiers and beckoned them closer. To their credit, the Imperials hesitated on the order to attack one of their own generals—or perhaps more simply a knight of such imposing caliber—but the urgings of their field commanders were not to be ignored.

They came at her in coordinated attack patterns all-too familiar to the general. Within seconds, two soldiers fell with slashes to their abdomen. Even when three more took their place, Celes fended off their strikes as flawlessly as though she were fighting one man.

Bringing her sword up to block the trio of swords bearing down on her, she gestured with her free hand. An Imperial attempting to blindside her was assailed by an icy blast, and the three men in front of her were shoved back with strength that belied the woman's size. Locke watched her skillful display for several moments before his efforts were returned to his own battle.

With the general in the fray, the tides were turning. A significant portion of the Imperial regiment was diverted towards her neutralization, which Celes chiseled her way through at an unyielding pace. With that small bit of relief, the Returner forces began pushing the Vectoran soldiers back down the hill.

A hellish roar echoed from behind the Imperials ranks, and many of the men in brown withdrew to the sides of the mountain pass.

"What is that?" one of the Returners near Celes asked.

The general gazed down the slope, her expression unreadable. "A lion of Hades."

As though from the very gates of Hell, it bounded past the Imperial lines and on into the icy maze. Hardly breaking his gait, the Hell Rider tore a bloody path through the rebel advance. Men were eviscerated with a single swipe of the hellion's paw. Their chests were ripped asunder by the rider's broad lance. Their bodies were knocked aside like chess pieces or crushed beneath the creature's mass.

Edgar pulled out his auto crossbow and fired a couple bolts. They barely penetrated the beast's thick hide. "Terra, we need your magic, and we need it now."

The girl glanced nervously at the fast-approaching beast. "I don't know if I can…"

"Try!" the king pleaded.

He fired once again, now joined by several Returners and their gunpowder rifles. Still the beast didn't slow. The young mage stepped out in front of the hellion's path, hand raised.

Celes tensed.

Terra hesitated.

The Hell Rider barreled on.

The hellion broke free of the maze and surged forward on the open ground. In an instant, Celes was at Terra's side, pulling her back with one hand while thrusting out the other. Ten-foot spikes of ice erupted from the ground, and the Hell Rider yanked back on the reigns, his mount skidding to a halt inches from the perilous obstruction and rearing back with a snarl.

Celes spoke to Terra, but her eyes never left the rider. "Get out of here."

"But—"

"Go!" The girl turned away, but the blonde stopped her. "Terra."

The general held out her sword. Terra touched a hand to the cold steel, and a bright flame blanketed the blade. With a nod from Celes, the green-haired mage retreated to a safer location.

Spurred by its master, the hellion crashed through the frozen barricade. Resuming the charge, the mounted warrior cocked his spear. Celes grit her teeth, waiting unfalteringly as the Hell Rider drew ever closer.

At the last second, she threw out her hand, a bright flash exploding from her fingertips. As shards of ice flew into the beast's eyes, she dove out of its path, rolling to a crouch and arcing out her sword. The flaming blade bit deep into the hellion, passing through its chest and along its flank. With a yelp, the creature collapsed mid-gallop, and the rider was thrown off its back.

Soon, the hellion's death cries were silenced by Celes' sword piercing its skull. The dismounted warrior stood, his eyes narrow slits beneath his helm.

"My quarrel is not with you, General."

He turned and started purposefully towards Banon.

Celes followed behind him. "It will be."

She struck with her sword. The warrior spun and met it with the end of his spear. Sparks flew from the unnatural flame covering the general's blade.

The rider nodded. "If you insist."

Celes nearly lost her footing when he roughly pushed her sword away, and she instinctively ducked as the other end of the halberd whistled just over her head. Those same instincts made her step to the side just as the jagged spearhead crashed into the ground mere inches from her. The general drove her sword down on top of the lance, delaying its movement long enough for her to strike the rider in the chin with the pommel of her blade.

The warrior's helm absorbed most of the blow, and he readied his javelin like a staff. He struck high with both ends and repeated the alternation down low. He then spun his spear over his head and swiped to the right, mirroring the move to the left, but Celes' blade challenged him at every turn. He returned to the right, this time twisting his whole body around, weapon twirling in his hands above his head and then sweeping low as he intended to arc around behind the general. Though she again blocked his efforts, the butt of his spear came up sharply into her stomach, quickly followed by the flat side of the spearhead ramming up into her chin.

Celes landed hard on her rear, and the warrior's halberd was still in motion. He twisted so that his back was to her and reverse thrust with his lance. The general rolled just out of the way, then immediately rolled back as the warrior pivoted and attempted to impale her again. The rider spun on his heel and axed the spearhead down upon her.

Several of the Returners unconsciously flinched and closed their eyes. When they reopened them, they saw the sharp point of the halberd hovering inches from Celes' throat, her hands firmly gripped around the shaft and her arms trembling with the heavy tension of halting the weapon's descent. The rider grunted, bearing more weight down against her, and the razor edge slid closer to its mark.

With a desperate heave, Celes pushed the halberd to the side and released. The spear tip drove into the ground just alongside her head. The unexpected move jerked the warrior forward and off balance. Celes grabbed for her sword and thrust it through an opening in his armor and into his torso. A harsh kick knocked the rider back, and he fell to the ground.

Slowly, the general got to her feet, sword still in hand. The rider simply watched, unable to move and resigned to his fate. For several moments, Celes gazed down at him, her face a mask. Then, with a slash too swift for the warrior to see, his pain was ended.

As the general stood silent and still, the Returners said nothing, all of them wondering what exactly they had just witnessed. An agonizingly familiar and gleeful voice interrupted their thoughts.

"Why, if it isn't the White Raven herself."

Hardly surprised, Celes turned to face its colorfully-dressed owner. "Kefka."

His hands were held behind his back and his head was cocked comically to one side. A false smile was firmly plastered on his overly white face. "How have you been, my dear?"

"I've been better," she answered flatly.

"I imagine so, considering the company you're keeping…"

"And you? I wasn't aware your leash extended this far."

Kefka gave a light laugh. "Ah, Celes, sharp-tongued as ever…" He frowned. "I'm a bit disappointed, really. You killed my pet. He was my favorite…so delightfully vicious…"

"Get a real dog, Kef. You might be surprised."

"Perhaps… Speaking of dogs, what _are_ you doing with them?" he asked, gesturing towards the Returners.

"Avoiding Imperials who want me dead. Like you."

Kefka donned a look of insult. "Dead? I never wanted you _dead_. I'm hurt."

"Kef…"

"Not in all my years of service have I ever been accused of wanting a comrade and fellow officer _dead_."

"Kefka—"

"Oh, that's _very_ nice. _Very_ nice, indeed—"

"Kefka!" When she had his attention, she shook her head. "Give it a rest."

He gave a dramatic sigh. "Oh, well, I tried. I suppose I'm just going to have to _subdue_ you."

The blade held at the lady general's side twitched, not unnoticed by Kefka. "I will return to Vector when I'm good and ready, but I will not submit to you."

The jester wagged a finger at her. "Think about that, Celes. You've already fought and killed Imperial soldiers. If you take up your sword against me now, you truly are a traitor."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "With you, I'm dead either way." She paused. "I'm no better off than the people of Doma."

Kefka shrugged. "A weak kingdom that won't be missed."

"Filthy cur!" Cyan bellowed.

Celes allowed herself a small smirk as she stepped aside. Kefka had just enough time to throw a hateful glare at her before the angry Doman charged forth, his katana raised. The older Imperial narrowly missed being cloven in two, and he drew his sword.

"So inconsiderate," he growled.

The two men traded blows. Though somewhat fatigued from his previous engagements, Cyan was showing the upper hand. The battle was short-lived, however, as Kefka summoned a fiery blast to knock the Doman to the ground. Edgar, Sabin, and Locke stepped up, their weapons at the ready. The jester looked displeased at the idea of facing all three of them, and he sheathed his sword, backing up a few paces.

"Well played, Celes. Enemy of your enemy, and all that." His eyes fell on the green-haired mage standing near the blonde. "Terra, my sweet. Have you forgotten who your master is?" The girl trembled slightly, and Kefka's grin soon turned to a scowl. "You worthless twit. Nothing but a disappointment."

Another sphere of fire shot from his hand and raced towards Terra. Before it could reach her, the blaze of energy slammed into Celes' sword and dissipated on impact. The blonde lowered her blade, standing steadfastly between the younger mage and the jester.

Kefka's glower deepened. "Ever the knight, of course…very well. I grow bored of this."

He withdrew a small silver vial from his robes and tossed it to the ground. A plume of smoke rose, and when it cleared, the jester was nowhere in sight.

"Coward," Cyan grunted as he pulled himself to his feet.

Terra stared at Celes in awe. "How did you do that?"

Celes sheathed her sword. "The emperor's Magi-technical engineers didn't just revive the magic bloodlines; they reawakened the Order of Rune. I'm a knight of both."

Locke reminisced on the mysterious second symbol he had seen on the general's white cloak back in South Figaro.

Edgar had a look of wonder. "I've read many accounts of the Great Magi War, and Rune Knights were a prominent mention…the ability to deflect and even absorb mystical energy…I thought the Order had disappeared after the war."

"The same was thought about the Espers until just two decades ago," Celes reminded.

Edgar nodded. "Incredible..."

Banon also nodded his agreement. "Yes, and I would like to see this Esper that we spilled our blood to protect."

"Is it wise to allow the Imperials within reach?" Cyan asked without reserve.

"The Esper does not concern me," Celes stated coolly.

"And the girl?"

"I believe it's the reason she's mixed up in all of this."

"Indeed," Banon interceded. "Now, shall we?"

Leaving the surviving rebel force in defense positions, the core Returners and Celes climbed the final rise of the mountain and crossed the bridge to the cliff's edge where the Esper sat.

Encased in ice was the most magnificent creature they had ever seen. With the body of a dragon, its scales were iridescent, their shimmering hues as changing as the winds. Four legs bore large claws. The head consisted of a powerful beak, a vibrant crest, and piercing white eyes. Massive wings were outstretched as though ready to lift the creature into the air at any moment. Snowy secondary feathers melted into brightly colored flight feathers of reds, blues, and greens. Its long serpentine tail lay coiled on the ground around it, tipped by feathery tendrils. The ice itself seemed to have an unnatural glimmer, mysterious and enthralling.

Edgar grew nervous. "Perhaps we should be exercise caution. We have no idea how this thing may react to our presence."

Locke strolled up to the Esper and knocked on its icy prison. "Hello? It's dead. What's it going to do, give us the cold shoulder?"

Celes shook her head. "It's not dead."

"It's over a thousand years old."

"Your point?" The thief said nothing. "Espers aren't human. They don't die the way we do."

A new look of discomfort came over his face, and Locke took a few steps back. Terra then approached it, her expression a mixture of fear, awe, and confusion.

…_release…me…_

"I…I can hear it…" she whispered.

Sabin looked around. "Hear what?"

"Its mind," Celes answered quietly.

Terra reached out a tentative hand. "It feels…so familiar…"

Celes' hand stopped hers just before it touched the ice. The general lowered the girl's arm. "We can't do anymore here, Terra. Let's g—"

A searing pressure filled her mind, and Celes faltered, only a hand pressed against the Esper keeping her upright. All conscious thought was burned to nothing, and the world she occupied slipped away like steam.

Time ceased to exist.

In the blackened void, only one thing remained: the frozen prison. But it no longer contained the feathered serpent. Rather, it held in its icy grips a warped and perverted reflection of herself. The mirrored figure, nude and tinged with blue, was covered in living ice. Pale hair was thickened by cerulean frost, and already cold eyes had hardened to a frozen sapphire.

The Esper's voice invaded her mind once again, it's raspy echo now taking on her own intonation.

…_release…me…_

The general could do no more than stare fearfully at her eerie reflection. She did not know the alteration to her form in the ethereal dreamscape had begun to manifest in the physical world the moment her hand touched the thousand-year old prison. Less than two feet away, Terra stood similarly entranced, her own form beginning to fluctuate and change.

The Returners watched in concern. For them, mere seconds had passed, and none dared a step closer to the ancient creature that had so affected the two women. The thief, though, looked ready to dash forward at any moment, having seen the general waver and nearly collapse against the imprisoned Esper.

A single lucid thought ran through Celes' mind, and a mighty and desperate push wrenched her from the Esper's grasp. She stumbled backwards, feeling as though she was falling as reality came rushing back. It was several seconds before she registered the closeness of the ground beneath her and the arms wrapped protectively around her.

Locke bit his tongue against the impossible chill of Celes' skin, relief only coming when the ice began to recede and her natural color return.

Terra was not so fortunate.

Heat radiated from her very core until finally her skin erupted in pink flame. Celes raised a hand in weak effort to quell the blaze, but her words were drowned out by Terra's piercing scream. The general's head swam with the shrill cry, and again the world quickly fell away to darkness.

All went silent.

When next her eyes opened, it was no longer the cold snowy ground beneath her but a soft mattress covered by warm blankets. Locke sat in a chair nearby, his head in his hands. As she stirred, the thief looked up at her with a mixture of emotions playing across his face: relief, concern, pain…sadness?

Celes sat up. "Terra's gone." It wasn't a question.

Locke nodded remorsefully. "Couldn't stop her. I couldn't…" He closed his eyes and seemed to shake himself. "_We_…couldn't help her."

"There was nothing to be done."

The thief noticed an odd inflection in her tone and was about to inquire, but Edgar knocked on the doorframe and poked his head in.

"Miss Chere, good to see you're awake. How are you feeling?" The response he received was a slightly raised brow at his politeness. "We were hoping you could provide some insight on this turn of events…"

With a slow nod, Celes slid from the cot and followed Edgar into the main room, Locke behind her. Already gathered were Sabin, Cyan, and Banon. Arvis and the wild child were absent. The grandfather clock chimed, sounding ten times, reminding them all of the lateness of the hour.

"What specifically do you wish to know?" the general asked, a trace of wariness lacing the question.

"You know Terra…" Edgar began. "Do you know what happened?"

"Yes."

There was a long beat of silence. "…and?"

Celes sighed. "Terra was an officer. Magitek Elite. But how she got there… She was born of a human mother, but it was in the Esper world, of an Esper father." The Returners exchanged shocked glances as she continued. "When Gestahl invaded, he took Terra for his own, that she would be raised as an elite mage. She was…groomed by his ideals, his drives, but he did so without revealing the truth of her heritage. She was a daughter of the Empire."

Her use of the phrase caught Locke's attention, but Edgar spoke before he could question it.

"How—"

"Don't ask how I know these things," Celes cut in. "It's not important. As she grew older, Terra became harder for the emperor to control. With the mounting success of one of his prototype Magitek Knights, Gestahl had little use left for her. She was handed off to Kefka, who enslaved her as his own personal instrument of destruction, as I'm sure you're aware."

There was no question in Edgar's mind. "You replaced her."

Celes looked him square in the eye. "Yes, I did."

"_Daddy_ must have been so proud."

She disregarded the contemptuous remark. "I was created to be an Elite Knight, a commanding officer. I knew nothing else, and so I became. Terra was unfortunate, but it was not in my power to decide her fate."

Cyan snorted. "As though thou wouldst care at all."

"What?"

"Thy repute precedes thee. 'Tis said that such compassion is thy bane. Would thou truly have us believe this girl means anything to thee?"

Celes afforded no hesitation. "I would have you believe that I would slit your throat in a second if it proved useful to me." Uncomfortable silence followed. "Terra is different. She's an innocent in this."

"And since when doth the emperor's queen of war spare the innocent?"

A shadow of pain darkened her gaze, but it was only for a moment until Banon stepped in.

"Now is not the time for this. Terra remains our best hope of defeating the Empire. We must find her."

"A few of the townspeople saw a light streaking to the West," Sabin offered.

Edgar rubbed his hands together. "All right. We can track west through Figaro and cross the mountains to Kohlingen."

"With the Empire right on our heels, no doubt." Locke turned to Celes. "We could use your help on this."

"Why do you look to me?"

"I seem to recall you telling me you know the Empire and its subjects better than I ever will."

"I do," Celes agreed. "I'm also the last person you should be trusting. I thought I made that clear."

"And yet."

"What is it you're asking of me?"

"Come with us…?"

"And do what? Join the Returners? Be one of the 'good guys?' There's no such thing, Locke. In this world, there are only the selfish and the wicked."

The thief looked down. "That's bleak."

"That's life. Don't mistake what my earlier intentions were," she said tersely. "Facing that Hell Rider was for Terra, and Terra alone."

"And saving my life?"

Celes gave him a withering look. "Don't make me regret the choice." She turned towards the door. "The hour is late… Let me think on it."

They watched the general leave in silence. It was indeed late, but the night was far from over.

Edgar ran a hand down his face. "I'm not really sure what to make of all this. I don't know whether to be thankful she hasn't killed us yet or worried that she still might."

"She's invaluable," the thief insisted.

"She's dangerous, Locke. Bringing her along could be the death of us all." Edgar gave a ragged sigh. "Cyan, we already know your view on this, but Sabin?"

The martial artist puts his hands up. "I'm not going to take sides here. The way I see it, though, I'd rather have her more or less with us than definitely against us."

"True..." The king glanced wearily at the thief. "Do you really trust her?"

Locke shrugged. "I think we have to."

"I'm just asking you to be careful, Locke. There's a reason she's called The Heartless." Edgar shivered. "…the stories of some of the things she's done…makes me shudder to think about them."

"Cities burned to ashes, hundreds of men frozen solid, children nailed to temple walls… I've heard the stories," Locke said casually. "It was all the general."

"You're suggesting there's more to her than a merciless soldier?" Edgar asked.

Locke shrugged once again. "One way to find out."

"Daring…or possibly just foolish… All right. But we all have to keep a wary eye. Kefka at least is somewhat conventional in his insanity. I fear Celes will be much harder to predict."

In the time following, Edgar and Banon discussed plans for the next few weeks, with Sabin and Cyan inputting their opinions. Locke stepped outside, finding Celes sitting on the stairs, a light snow falling around her. Wordlessly, he sat down several steps above her.

"You were raised by Gestahl, too," he finally said.

It took her a moment to process the suddenness of the subject. "What makes you think that?"

"Earlier, you called Terra a daughter of the Empire. Twice now, I've heard people refer to you as the same."

Celes stared off into the snow, contemplation written on her face. "…you know search hounds?"

Locke shuddered. "How could I forget?"

"It doesn't matter where they are from: Vector, Narshe, Doma…they were all born to obey their masters. They are trained to search out threats, sometimes with a level of independent thinking, and to take it down on command. It's what they were bred to do. I was _bred_ by the Empire to obey _my_ master, to be what I am: a leader, a general…an Elite. So yes, Gestahl raised me."

"…underneath everything, all you really want is a second chance, isn't it?"

"Just because you want a second chance, doesn't mean I do," she returned shortly.

Ignoring the pang he felt from the slight, Locke crossed his arms and stood up, not really conceding the point. "So are you with us?"

She didn't answer right away. "Let's get one thing straight here," she eventually began. "I have absolutely no desire to aid or by any other means travel with you people."

"But…?" Locke prompted.

Celes sent him a glare before continuing. "_However_, my circumstances are less than favorable, so I don't have much choice now, do I?"

"…you know, today alone consists of more than you've said the entire week."

"This is more than I've said in a year. Don't get used to it."

* * *

_Author's Note: Cyan's Bushido attack _Fang_ is what _Dispatch_ is called in FFVI Advance._


	3. Another Guise

**Part III: Another Guise**

The general gazed into the mirror. The woman's reflection stared back.

She almost laughed at the ridiculous situation she had allowed herself to be dragged into. By counsel of a dying Esper, the Returners had decided to travel to the Southern Continent to infiltrate the Magitek labs of Vector. Passage there seemed next to impossible until the opportunity of using an airship presented itself.

So, she had agreed to the thief's ludicrous plot to impersonate the opera star with hopes of hijacking the gambler's vessel. The rebels had been rather shocked, but they had not bothered to delve beneath the surface of her compliance and were ignorant of her incentive.

The prospect of returning to her homeland was simply too alluring to resist.

Now she stood in the middle of the diva's changing quarters in all her feminine splendor. She had removed her soldier's uniform and was about to submit to the humiliation of Maria's dress when she caught sight of her reflection.

Truthfully, she had never given much thought to the differences between the male and female form, as it had always been the same brown uniform covering them up. Now, the full-length mirror exposed every inch of her nude body. Every curve, every dip, every scar, and she wasn't lacking in any; an angry track down a shapely thigh; a thin line across her taut stomach; a serrated mark just below her left breast. Countless others flawed her smooth skin, her many battles permanently mapped out on her cool flesh.

She glanced at the gown she was to wear. It hung silently, almost mockingly as it waited to cloak her, hide her true nature from the world.

"I've died and gone to hell," she muttered to herself.

Meanwhile, men of two different uniforms battled onstage, the bodies of their comrades underfoot. One by one they fell, impaled by an opposing blade. When none were left standing, the narrator spoke.

"_The war between the East and the West  
__was growing ever more violent by the day.  
__Draco, a soldier from the West,  
__thinks of his love, Maria, back at home..._"

A badly wounded knight staggered into view, his handsome features covered by blood and dirt. In despair, he took in the sight of his fallen brothers: victims of a dying kingdom. His injuries were taking their toll, and he dropped to his knees. Draco's deep baritone voice resonated throughout the hall.

"O Maria!  
My beloved, do you hear  
My words whispered in your ear  
As if I were by your side?"

The knight continued to sink lower until finally his strength gave out. The lights faded as he slumped to the ground, leaving the audience in stunned silence. The voice of the narrator broke the deathly hush.

"_The Western armies were defeated,  
__and Maria's castle fell into the hands of the East.  
__With the kingdom on its knees,  
__The Eastern Prince Ralse arrives to reap the rewards."_

Locke gave a bored sigh. "I've died and gone to hell."

In the dressing room, Celes winced as her attendant mercilessly pulled the laces of her corset dress taut. The older woman was under five feet tall and thin as a rail, but she might as well have been a Gigas with the force of her ministrations.

"Must it be this tight?" the general asked, gripping the dresser to keep her balance.

"It has been the accepted fashion of the aristocracy for years," the woman answered simply.

Celes was jerked back once again. "One would think a singer requires more air than this…"

"Lady Maria manages."

"I'm sure."

The attendant gave a final tug and tied the laces. "Will you be needing any further assistance, my lady?"

Images of the tiny woman pulling her hair back with the same ferocity filled Celes' mind, and she quickly waved the assistant off. Once she was alone, the general breathed in deeply—or as deeply as she could—and again looked in the mirror. She had conquered nations and brought a continent to its knees. Surely she could finish readying for her part without the aid of another.

Her hand, calloused from years of swordplay, instead wielded a brush. Fingers that once choked the life from her enemies now painted delicate shadows of color across her lips and eyelids. A warm blush was swept gently across her cheeks to cover the pale chill. Platinum hair that had hung freely by grace of her rank was tied up in elegant fashion with satin ribbon.

All the while, the woman's reflection stared on.

In the grand hall, the thief squirmed in his seat. Evidently, he had no interest in Prince Ralse parading around the castle boasting of his conquest through song.

Edgar nudged him with an elbow. "Locke, would you stop fidgeting already?"

"I can't help it." The thief forced himself to sit still. Barely ten seconds passed before he finally stood up. "I'm going to go check on Celes and make sure she didn't climb out the window or something."

Weaving his way through the halls, the ushers let him pass into the actors' wing without question. When he reached Maria's dressing room, the thief knocked lightly.

"Hey, it's me."

When he was beckoned in, Locke stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. He turned around, a question of well-being on his tongue, but the words died unspoken when he saw her.

"…Celes?"

"I wouldn't know," she replied, making eye contact only with the woman in the mirror. "I don't even recognize myself anymore…"

Locke swallowed as he took in the sight. Her flaxen hair was done up showed the gentle curvature of her neck. The bodice of the gown hugged her closely, accentuating her feminine form. The warm hues brushed over her features softened the stone mask. Even the usually strong voice had grown soft-spoken. Surely this was not the same person he had pulled from the cell in South Figaro; the soldier whom he had seen kill without reservation; the general much of the world still feared. Surely this was someone else, or perhaps he had fallen asleep watching the beginning acts and this was a dream.

Celes noticed the thief had been staring for quite some time. "Why do you look at me like that?"

It was an innocent query. Locke's mind was blank, though, and no charming response came to his aid.

"…"

Yes, this had to be a dream. What else could put the quick-witted treasure hunter extraordinaire at a loss for words?

"Is there something wrong?"

"…"

One of those irritating dreams where the person _wants _speak, _knows_ he can, and the words are there, but his subconscious plays tricks on him.

Celes looked down at herself, then back at the mirror. "Or is this…pleasing to you?"

"…!"

Or perhaps it wasn't a dream at all, but rather there was an evil force at work weaving spells of dark magic to bind his tongue. Whatever it was, Locke could feel his face turning red as he stood mute and frozen in place.

Her brows knitted together at the thief's silence. She had seen such looks of panic on men before. They usually came when the simple farmers had not the means to pay annual tribute to her liege. What she didn't understand was why the thief wore the look now.

"…th-that, uh, ribbon looks nice," he finally managed. As the shock wore off, it was with some discontent that an errant thought crossed Locke's mind: this woman, this trained killer of the Empire, was beautiful. A dangerous notion, if he wasn't careful. "So how are you doing?"

Celes evaded the question. "This had better work."

He bowed his head. "I'm sorry I got you into this."

"Why? It's just another guise…one more part to play…"

Her eyes didn't leave the mirror. Locke watched Celes for a moment as she studied her reflection. Her sharp gaze analyzed each little detail as it raked over every inch of herself. The thief could tell the gears in the general's head were working to unravel some mystery, even though her expression was again remote.

"Do you ever wonder what it would've been like?" he asked her.

"What?"

"Growing up outside the Empire."

For the first time, Celes tore her gaze from the mirror to look at him. "No."

"Why not?"

"There's no point. It's a waste of time to dwell on what can't be changed."

Locke drew in a sharp breath as a pang filled his chest, but if the woman noticed, she did well to hide it. He began absently picking through the rack of Maria's various wardrobes, not daring to meet Celes' eyes.

"You know, I used to love dogs," he stated, seemingly out of the blue. "A friend of mine had this Rottweiler mix. Went everywhere with her. Friendly dog. Loved people. Loved _me_. Then she got hurt, and the dog…just…turned on me, like he knew it was my fault."

Celes didn't have to ask who the elusive 'she' was. Though Locke himself had never mentioned her by name, Edgar had explained the tragedy during their passage through Kohlingen. Failing to rescue the woman he loved, the thief kept her hidden away, forever frozen in time until the day he could save her. His immeasurable guilt, never sated, was kept in check only by playing hero to any girl he came across in his twisted never-ending fantasy.

A fantasy in which Celes now had a starring role.

She suppressed the rising disgust and made her way to the stage entrance door in the back of the dressing room. "The next act is about to start, along with Maria's entrance."

Slowly, cautiously, the thief looked up at his companion. The general's mask was firmly in place. "So…what's going to happen?"

"Maria is about to marry Ralse and be crowned his queen. She's thinking about Draco, so she…" Celes paused, then shrugged, "…bursts into song."

Locke chuckled quietly. "I know I would."

The woman quirked a brief smile at the thief's impish grin before turning her gaze to the stage.

"Nervous?" the thief wondered.

"No."

"No? You're not worried about having to go out in front of hundreds of people to impersonate a professional performer with absolutely no experience whatsoever?"

Celes stared at him. "…no."

"Even though this whole thing rests on you? I mean, if you don't put on a convincing show, Setzer might not make an appearance, and we'll have no way to get to Vector. That kind of pressure…risk of humiliation…" He shuddered. "You're really not nervous?"

Ever so slowly, the woman's face fell. "…well, _now_ I am."

Locke grimaced sheepishly. "Sorry."

Celes turned back to the open door, a trace of stress creasing her features. The thief put his hands on her shoulders with a gentle squeeze.

"You'll be just fine."

At the whisper against her hair, Celes' brows drew close together. She looked over her shoulder at her companion, her expression still creased.

"Locke?"

"Yeah?"

"You can let go now."

The distaste in her tone was subtle, but it may as well have been laced with venom. Locke withdrew his hands as though the woman's skin burned. He muttered another apology, but it was swallowed by the voice of the narrator, cueing Celes' entrance.

"_The East's conquest knew no bounds,  
__And the spirit of the West faded.  
__Though forced to wed Prince Ralse,  
__Maria still thinks only of Draco as she gazes at the stars each night..."_

Ignoring Locke completely and focusing only on the smooth string-laden melody floating up from the orchestra pit, Celes pushed the general into the recesses of her mind, summoning the somewhat ill-practiced maiden façade to the forefront. She stepped into the hallway leading to the tall windows where Maria was to make her first appearance. The first rays of the soft stage lighting fell upon her face, illuminating her form, but throwing the audience into shadow.

The melody reached its pause, and Maria drew in a breath.

"O my hero, my beloved,  
Shall we still be made to part,  
Though promises of perennial love  
Yet sing here in my heart?

I'm the darkness, you're the starlight  
Shining brightly from afar.  
Through hours of despair, I offer this prayer  
To you, my evening star.

Must my final vows exchanged  
Be with him and not with you?  
Were you only here to quiet my fear...  
O speak! Guide me anew."

Maria ascended the tower stairway to the terrace above, her steps slow and burdened. Her eyes lifted from the ground when she heard a whisper call her name.

"_Come, Maria! Dance with me._"

She searched the terrace for any sign of her love, finding only a solitary white rose on the steps leading up to the castle balcony. Picking up the rose with reverent fingers, Maria climbed the second set of stairs and stood at the balcony rail, eyes glistening in the evening moonlight.

"I am thankful, my beloved,  
For your tenderness and grace.  
I see in your eyes, so gentle and wise,  
All doubts and fears erased!"

Maria cast the rose into the abyss of night as the final strain of her aria swelled.

"Though the hours take no notice  
Of what fate might have in store,  
Our love, come what may, will ne'er age a day.  
I'll wait forevermore!"

The melody died away, leaving Maria bare against the night sky. From within the castle, the chancellor emerged, pulling the woman from her thoughts.

"Lady Maria, the prince awaits your presence."

"Of course," she whispered. Maria did not, however, stir from where she stood.

"Come, my lady," the chancellor insisted.

With a final glance down into the bottomless darkness below the castle balcony, Maria allowed herself to be led inside. She was met by Ralse's enraged expression.

"You waste your time, Maria. Your 'hero' is dead, along with any hope of opposing the will of the East."

The woman's reply was quiet but firm. "There is still hope for those who wish it."

The prince's scowl turned into a rather malicious and suggestive smirk. The aria's melody returned, though the strings took on a much darker tone. Ralse shoved Maria against the wall, and though she struggled, she soon found her arms pinned above her head.

"Soon, you'll find nothing left in this world to cling to."

With that, Ralse proceeded to force himself on her, right there in the hallway. The lights dimmed save for a soft glow illuminating Maria's face. Her expression was of shame and sorrow.

"My beloved, can you see now  
The disgrace I am to bear?  
As time rushes by, my courage will die  
And leave me in despair…"

The darkness then enveloped her, and all was quiet. A playful waltz cut through the dark, and the stage once again became lit, revealing the castle ballroom. Maria and Ralse danced together center stage while a dozen other couples danced around them. Maria may as well have been a rag doll with the barest of rigidity keeping her upright as she moved lifelessly in Ralse's arms. It was only after hearing a panicked shout from offstage that she showed any trace of awareness of her surroundings.

"_The Western survivors attack!_"

"Impossible!" Ralse roared, his grip on his soon-to-be queen tightening painfully.

Sure enough, soldiers in battered Western uniforms flooded the stage, bursting through doors and windows and dropping from somewhere above. The Eastern guardsmen detached from their dance partners and drew their rapiers as they were rushed head-on. The first two men that approached Ralse were quickly slain by the prince's skilled hand as he turned their weapons against them.

A trio of Eastern guards flanked Ralse and Maria, preparing to lead them to safety. A new figure dropped from above and slew the three in the blink of the eye.

"Maria!" the man hailed in glorious baritone.

The woman's eyes lit up as she recognized the unmistakable voice of her lover. She answered with her own soprano resonance. "Oh Draco! I knew you would come for me, my love!"

Ralse jerked Maria's arm, pulling her closer to him as he addressed the knight with his solid tenor voice. "Insolent rogue! Knave of the Western horde! You would address my queen to be, Maria?"

Draco drew his blade. "Never shall you have Maria's hand! I would die before that day comes!"

An Eastern soldier tossed Ralse a sword, and the prince drew the rapier, angrily throwing the sheath to the side. He forewent song at this point, instead bellowing in fury. "Then we duel!"

Maria was shoved aside, and the woman could only watch as the two men battled. Each was a competent swordsman, and their strikes and parries were true. The battle around them ceased as the champions of both sides carried on. At once, Draco and Ralse readied for an immense attack.

Maria panicked; the two swordsmen would trade fatal blows. Thinking only of her love, the woman rushed forward and pushed Ralse off balance just as the two men struck. As the prince stumbled, Draco found Maria in his arms. The knight's look of joy, however, fell as he saw the pained shock on his beloved's face.

There were gasps in the audience.

Draco's own sword lay embedded in Maria's chest. A bright crimson stain began seeping through the lady's gown. The blade was slid from fair flesh and dropped to the ground. The lady slumped to the cold stone, slowed only by her hero's arms and the whisper of her name. Maria opened her mouth, but no words would come. A trembling hand rose to touch a battle-worn face, but that sweet caress was never given as the hand went limp. Draco clenched his eyes shut, bowing his head so that his forehead rested on his love's chin. The hero's form shook, and he let out a woeful cry.

Ralse watched with a look of disappointment, obviously displeased at losing his trophy.

Gently laying Maria down, Draco remained kneeling at her side. With a deep breath, his strong baritone voice echoed through the hall, the sweet melody of Maria's aria made hollow by his grief.

"O Maria, my beloved,  
Must we now be made to part?  
By Destiny's turn, I'll forever yearn  
For you, my sweetest heart.

I'm the darkness, you're the starlight,  
Forever a distant gleam.  
What e'er shall I do, so lost without you?  
My oath has faded to dream."

The lights dimmed and the curtain closed as Draco's voice died away, leaving much of the audience in tears. The final act would begin after the set change.

The Impresario mopped the nervous sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. "Thank the gods for small miracles," he breathed.

While the Figaro brothers exchanged murmurs of applause at their companion's performance, Locke said nothing. His fingers gripped the seat's armrests, and his eyes remained glued to the balcony rail.

Edgar slapped his own leg. "I can't believe she pulled it off."

"Yes, she was rather convincing," the Impresario agreed. "For an amateur. Although I must say, I'm quite surprised Setzer hasn't shown up yet."

The king shared a look with Locke and Sabin. "You don't think—"

As if on cue, Celes' attendant ran onto the private balcony, panting heavily and looking panicked. Promptly, she handed the Impresario a note. The man let out a magnificent sigh and held his kerchief to his forehead.

"Oh dear."

Edgar snatched the parchment out of his hands and read it aloud to his companions.

"'Most impressive performance. I'm nothing if not a man of my word—The Wandering Gambler.' The slimy git was waiting backstage."

The Returners quickly left their balcony seats just as the curtain parted.

Meanwhile, Celes found herself aboard the _Blackjack_. She had been whisked away from the opera house by the dubious gambler in a brilliant manipulation of the backstage prop cables and skylights. Swiftly, the silver-haired pilot placed her in his private cabin while he set the airship's course up on deck. He soon returned, closed the door behind him and locked it, a recognizable gleam in his eyes.

"How trite," she muttered to herself.

Setzer moved to the bar installed at the far wall. As the gambler poured himself a glass of what she guessed was scotch, her trained ears caught the muffled sound of the door lock being picked. Setzer downed the contents of his tumbler and turned to her, placing slender fingers to her cheek.

"Now then, I believe I owe you a proper introduction. I am Captain Setzer Gabbiani, and it is my distinct pleasure to have captured such a beauty."

Just as the cabin door crept open, the hand on her cheek dropped to her waist. Merciless as a striking serpent, Celes grabbed the offending appendage and twisted brutally. Setzer cried out in surprise and pain, contorting his body in an attempt to accommodate the harsh angle of his arm.

"Well, looks like she's back to normal," Locke remarked as he and his two companions stepped into the room.

Celes tilted her head slightly to acknowledge them. "One word out of any of you, and I'll have your heads," she warned in a low tone.

Not one of the trio dared mention her performance.

"What the hell is—" Setzer bit down on his tongue when Celes twisted even harder. The pilot took in several gasping breaths. "There were rumors of the resemblance, and I must say…striking. Lady Chere, if I'm correct?"

The general released his hand and looked to Edgar. "I did my part. Now if you'll all excuse me, I'd like to change."

The king held out an appeasing hand. "Mr. Gabbiani, perhaps we could sit down in the lounge area and talk? I promise to explain everything to you."

Setzer rubbed his arm. "I have bloody General Chere on my ship. I don't see myself as having much choice."

Sabin handed Celes her bundle of clothes, and the four men exited the cabin. The corset was a nuisance for her to loosen herself, but she eventually managed it. Her hair was let down and brushed out, her makeup was wiped off, and her soldier's uniform was gladly slipped back on.

More than content at being 'back to normal,' as Locke had so eloquently put it, Celes stepped out of the cabin. As soon as she walked into the lounge, all four men looked up at her, oddly quiet.

"Sorry, am I interrupting?"

Locke took in her appearance. "I miss the dress." _Whap_. "Ow," he groaned, rubbing the back of his head.

Edgar shook his head. "We've explained the situation to Setzer here, and we're just waiting for an answer."

The general switched her gaze to Setzer and quirked a brow. This caused the gambler to laugh.

"Ha! A lady of little patience. All right. I'll make you a deal. If you, Celes, agree to become my wife, I'll help any way I can—"

Locke's jaw dropped, and his eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"—Otherwise, no dice."

To the thief's horror, Celes shrugged. "…fine."

"WHAT? ARE YOU INSANE?"

Celes waved the thief off. "Locke, we don't have time to argue about this."

"Excellent!" Setzer exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "It's settled then."

"Not quite."

"And why is that?"

"There's a catch."

"From the Lady of Vector? I'm hardly surprised."

"You see, the deal you've…_proposed_…is rather one-sided," Celes explained. "Now, as much as I can appreciate the all-or-nothing approach, it doesn't quite work for me in this instance."

"What did you have in mind?" Setzer asked, his grin widening.

"A simple flip of a coin. Heads, I win, and you help without question. Tails, we throw these three overboard, and I'm yours."

High-pitched mangled sounds came out of Locke's mouth, as he was beyond words at this point.

Setzer nodded. "Audacious. I like it."

"You agree then?"

The gambler withdrew a coin from his pocket and offered it to Celes. "Ladies first."

The general took the coin and examined it, ignoring Locke's continued garbled protests. Laying it heads-up on her palm, she stared at the piece of metal for a moment as though willing it to obey her. With a steadying breath, Celes flipped the coin into the air. Five pairs of eyes watched the gold piece rise and then fall to the floor with several _pings_.

"I win," Celes announced, barely skirting a smug tone.

His brows drawn together, Setzer stooped down to pick up the coin. He inspected both sides as Celes had done before. This time, a dense sheet of clear frost coated the tails side.

"Ice…?" He chuckled. "You weighted the coin. Duped at my own stakes…"

The general calmly met the gambler's gaze. "It's part of the game."

"Indeed." The gambler gave a hearty laugh. "It's not every day I'm swindled by a beautiful woman twice over, now is it?"

"You'll keep your end of the bargain?"

Setzer placed a hand over his heart with a knightly bow. "Scoundrel's honor. Shall I set course for the Imperial Continent?"

"Please do."

As Setzer ascended the stairs to the upper deck, Sabin gave Celes a bemused look. "How were you so sure that ice thing would work?"

"I wasn't," she answered simply.

"And if it had been tails?"

Celes gave a rare smirk. "I wasn't thinking that far ahead." Locke groaned, and she glanced at him. "I've maneuvered my way out of at least a half dozen marriage proposals in the past. This was nothing."

"Yeah," the thief sighed, "nothing."

The general watched him a moment longer with an openly curious expression before she made for the stairs. Up on deck, she marveled at the feel of the wind rushing past her. Exchanging a mute nod with Setzer, she stepped up to the bow and gazed at the night sky.

Hours passed, and the general did not move. Setzer remained at the helm despite the lack of necessity, a form of silent company that Celes held no protest against. The three Returners remained below, sleeping no doubt, but the general did not sleep. She waited. Much as Maria had waited for the return of her Draco, Celes waited for the glimpse of what she yearned for.

Then, as the first rays of morning sunlight peeked over the Eastern horizon, she saw them: the bronze towers of the Imperial Citadel, their jagged spires jutting up into the sky and bearing the Imperial banners proudly. Each passing second unveiled more of the massive fortress surrounding the citadel as the airship brought them closer to their destination. Roiling columns of steam rose into the air from countless factories. The brown expanse of the capital city stretched for miles in every direction around the military bastion before succumbing to the rolling green plains.

Oddly, Celes was not entirely sure what to think as she once again laid eyes upon her homeland. The weeks of her absence had begun to feel more like years to her, and in that time, she had wanted nothing more than to return to the one place where everything could be fixed.

Or where everything could be ripped apart, she realized.

Without needing to be told, Setzer landed the _Blackjack_ in a remote field behind the mountain chain directly south of Vector. The large aircraft would be hidden from the capital's sight by Ibel Ridge on the Peaks of Bear Path.

When the _Blackjack_ touched down, it wasn't the swell of relief that Celes felt as she had been expecting. Rather, she wondered if returning to the Imperial Continent was not one of her better ideas as the pang of apprehension settled in. Certainly, it would be a long trek north into the Vector heartland.

* * *

_Author's Note: The aria is directly from the Advance translation. I made a couple additions to the narration, and Maria and Draco's reprises were verses that I wrote._


	4. Devil's Chain

**Part IV: Devil's Chain**

The rest of the night was spent on the _Blackjack_. Celes had eventually withdrawn to the private cabin Setzer had granted her, but sleep still had not come. When the sun began to rise, she stepped off the airship's gangplank onto the fields of the Laurel province, buckling her armor as she walked. She breathed in the familiar morning air of her homeland, a slightly more peaceful feeling settling over her.

She scaled one of the countless knolls dotting the plains and sat down, laying her sword belt next to her. One leg was drawn up, and she slung her arm lazily over her knee. She watched the sun climb slowly up into the sky, rays of sunlight reflecting off the dewy fields. She watched those glistening grasses ripple like the ocean in the breeze. A golden eagle soared overhead, descending from Bear Path Peaks to hunt on the open land.

It was another hour before the three Returners emerged from the _Blackjack_, armor and weapons in place. Setzer remained on the vessel, disinclined to 'waltz into the Imperial Capital and straight to the gallows,' as he so delicately put it. The three men quietly ascended the hill and stood behind the general.

The thief swallowed the urge to ask if she was all right. "You ready to go, Celes?"

She continued staring off into the distance for several long moments as though she hadn't heard him. Then, she slowly pushed herself to her feet and strapped her sword belt over her shoulder. "It will be a day and a half's walk through the Valley of Parai, and from there, another half day. Be wary for couriers and entourages."

Indeed, the valley was wide and gave an unobstructed view of the capital city. It unnerved the men being so out in the open, seemingly under the watchful eye of the Imperial Citadel in the distance. Celes, however, said nothing more. She was silent as they walked, and the Returners were reluctant to break the hush. They avoided the minuscule villages scattered across the valley province and kept a vigilant eye for anyone that could compromise them.

Celes wordlessly pushed on into the night, refusing them rest or even a meal. The stars were bright, and the moon was full, lighting their path. Even as the sun rose the next day, they still did not pause. They skirted a minor militia outpost—the only marker of the border between Parai and Vector—and crossed into the Imperial province. It wasn't until mid-afternoon, when they caught sight of a small rustic hamlet ahead, that Celes finally spoke.

"We'll rest here until morning."

The men exchanged confused looks as the general continued her path towards the cluster of simple dwellings. "What is this place?" Sabin asked.

"Not everything in the Empire is steel and stone," she answered simply.

The general paid no heed to her companions' apprehension, and the men had little choice but to follow her. The setting of the tiny village before them looked innocent enough to their eyes, and the sounds of youthful laughter drifted to their ears. They caught sight of children playing in the fields. Some were chasing each other around the well while others were flying a piece of parchment on a string in the air. A number of adults were outside, tending to their simple crops or flower beds while keeping an eye on their youth.

Regardless, Edgar felt the need to express his concern as they tread through the very outskirts of the hamlet. Before he could speak, however, their presence was noticed. To the Returners' shock, Celes' arrival did not evoke the reaction they were expecting. There were no screams. No sneers. No threats. Above all, no fear.

A group of children spotted the train of newcomers and ran past them with smiles and giggles, their light laughter ringing through the peaceful scene. Looking up from their tasks, some the adult residents smiled at seeing the general and walked up to greet her. Others called out their welcomes and well-wishing from where they stood. Some even offered simple gifts or shelter to the Imperial, all of which she graciously declined. As they continued their walk into the village, a young girl—dark-haired, bright-eyed, and no older than six years—ran up to the woman in the lead and held up a single white wildflower. Slowing her stride, Celes gently accepted the offered flower, sending the child darting happily off.

The Returners could only watch as though it were a dream.

One dwelling in particular, little more than halfway through the settlement, seemed to be Celes' destination. As they neared, a woman stepped out into the midday sun, a smile lighting up her face. She looked a few years older than Celes, dirty blonde hair tumbling in waves just past her shoulders and green eyes sparkling as she regarded the younger woman.

"I thought I heard them hailing your name…" Her sweet gravelly voice danced with mirth. She nodded in greeting. "Celes."

The general idly turned the flower around in her hand as she met the other woman's gaze. "Siobhan."

"It's been a long time." A mere nod answered her. Green eyes flickered over to the three men accompanying Celes. "Should I even ask?"

"Probably not."

Siobhan nodded sagely. "Well, come on in, then. I'll have dinner ready in about an hour." Her gesture sent the men hesitantly into the dwelling, and she turned her attention back to Celes with an expectant head tilt.

"Thank you for this," the general murmured.

"You are always welcome here."

The corner of Celes' mouth quirked up a fraction. "That's why I came to you."

With that, the two blondes went inside. Locke, Edgar and Sabin were standing somewhat uncomfortably in the main room, and Siobhan smiled warmly at them. "Make yourselves at home, please."

The woman walked into the kitchen, and the Returners sat down in the living room. Celes stood at the wall, running her gaze over the various knickknacks on the bookshelf until Siobhan came back into the room. As the men made their introductions, the general withdrew from their company, disappearing through the back door. She sat on the stoop just outside, staring out across the village.

A short time later, the door opened as Locke and Edgar stepped outside—Sabin remained inside to offer a hand to their hostess in the kitchen. "Aren't you afraid someone will turn you in?" the king questioned without ceremony.

Celes didn't react right away, instead keeping her gaze off into the distance with a faraway look on her face. "…before it was integrated into the Empire, this village was on the edge of decay. Its crop fields were dust, and its families were starving. These people don't care about world politics or who betrayed whom. All they care about is seeing their children grow up in a place where there's food on the table and clean water to drink. I gave them that."

She spoke with a passion unfamiliar to their ears. Locke found a certain tranquility in the woman's expression and the faint gleam of pride in her eyes. The thief opened his mouth to reply, but a voice from inside called them to dinner. The three abandoned the stoop and took their places around the dinner table while Sabin helped Siobhan bring the serving dishes out. The beginning of the meal was eaten in awkwardness.

Eventually, the martial artist decided to breach the hush. "So, Siobhan, does this village have a name?"

The woman took a moment to swallow the food in her mouth before answering. "For most of its existence, it didn't. Even today, it's rare that we even register on a map, but a couple years ago, we were christened Aurelia."

"The feminine form of Aurelius, is it not?" Edgar guessed. "As in Aurelius Gestahl?"

"Yes, it is," their hostess confirmed.

"Why the feminine?" Sabin wondered.

"Because it wasn't named after the emperor himself. It was actually after…" Siobhan trailed off, seeing the nearly imperceptible shake of the head from Celes. "…his daughter that died a couple years ago."

Edgar set his fork down, genuinely interested. "I wasn't aware he had children."

Again, the older blonde's eyes darted over to the general. "He…"

Celes stepped in. "Contrary to popular belief, not every aspect of the emperor's life is public knowledge."

The king's brow creased in puzzlement. "I find it hard to believe that the death—and birth, for that matter—of a monarch's heir can be so easily overlooked."

"It's all a question of perspective."

There was a pause before Locke spoke up. "How do you two know each other?"

The two blondes met each other's gaze briefly before Celes dropped her eyes back to her plate. "I think that's a story for another day," Siobhan answered, her expression unreadable as she watched the general.

All three men looked like they wanted to press, but not one of them dared. Instead, they succumbed once again to silence. As they cleared their dishes from the table at the meal's end, Locke pulled Celes aside.

"I'm sorry if I crossed a line back there. I was just curious."

"I didn't ask."

Locke bit the inside of his cheek. "Celes…are you all right?"

She held back an impatient sigh. "What do you mean?"

"You've been different since we landed. Quieter…colder."

"That's not 'different.' Quite the opposite, really."

"Don't try to pass this off as normal, Celes," Locke challenged. "I'm not blind. The second you stepped off that airship, you closed off. Shut me—us out."

"I would've had to let you _in_, first."

"You still don't trust us, do you?"

"And you're surprised by this." It wasn't a question. "The sentiment is mutual, I'm sure."

"We just…want to make sure that we're not digging ourselves an early grave."

"Three rebels and a convicted traitor infiltrating the Imperial capital _is_ digging us an early grave."

Locke couldn't argue with that. "True."

"At least we agree on something," she muttered dryly. Without another word, Celes brushed past the thief.

Later that evening, Siobhan stepped out of her dwelling to find Celes leaning against the clothes pole, watching the sun sink into the horizon. The younger blonde still held the white flower in her hand, her fingers playing absently with the soft petals.

Siobhan stared at the blossom. "I've heard the rumors about what happened…"

"And?"

"I think you're crazy for going back."

"I've been called worse."

The older woman bit her lip. "They'll kill you on sight."

"They might not." The general's tone was quiet, impassive but with a trace of pensiveness.

"You're going to bet your life on a maybe? Celes—"

"It's for Terra."

"Only for Terra?" The general didn't answer. "Whatever you're hoping to find there, I pray it's worth the price."

After a brief delay, Celes turned and held up the flower, meeting Siobhan's eyes. The older blonde gently clasped her fingers around the general's and simply held them there for a lingering moment before mutely accepting the blossom. With a melancholy smile, Siobhan bid Celes a goodnight and disappeared indoors, leaving the general to her thoughts.

* * *

Celes roused the Returners at sunrise the next morning. A simple breakfast was had, and the men expressed their gratitude to Siobhan for her hospitality. No words were spoken between the two women. They merely shared a look that said what needed to be said.

The four left the village of Aurelia and made for the heart of the Empire. As Celes had predicted, it took a half day to reach the city limits. Immediately upon arriving, the Returners could tell the outer rim was the poorest section of Vector. The brown streets were cracked and dirty, and the brown buildings were likewise cracked and dirty. Glassless windows were boarded up with wooden planks. Graffiti was scrawled across the walls. The area appeared to be deserted.

"They don't tend to patrol the slums," Celes explained quietly. "Ironic considering it's where patrols are most needed."

Indeed, upon closer looks into passing alleyways, the shadows of less than friendly-

looking men and women of questionable integrity could be seen.

"The more honest souls keep to their houses," she went on.

As if on cue, a hoarse voice that was ineffectively trying to sound like velvet called to them. "Any of you boys lookin' for a good time?"

"Go back to your corner, harlot," Celes snapped, not even sparing the woman a glance.

And they carried on. They came to a set of rail tracks, a clear marker between the slums and the more middleclass population. Instead of crossing the tracks, however, Celes turned to follow their path.

"We won't make it directly into the research facility. It's too close to the palace, and security is too strong. We'll have to go in through the factories."

As they walked, they could see the general swivel her gaze around the area, checking for sentries. The men did the same. There were a few citizens milling about in the streets to their left, but none paid the four any heed. Anyone who did look their way quickly scurried far out of their path. Evidently, the Imperial uniform Celes still wore was working to her advantage: no civilian would dare give an Imperial soldier a second glance, leading to little chance of the general being recognized.

When the four did spot sentries, Celes steered them down a side street to avoid being seen. After what felt like an endless trek, the factories came into sight. They were surrounded by heavy barbed wire fences, and the grounds beyond were patrolled by sentries and Vector hounds. As they got closer, the faint sounds coming from within the factories could be heard. At periodic intervals, a harsh grating and squealing sound pierced the otherwise bland din.

Celes turned down another side street and led them through a series of back alleys. When they reemerged into the open, they were met with the same chain link fence, but beyond it was what appeared to be a junkyard.

"Factory dumping grounds. No patrols."

Off to the side, the ground sloped downward in a tunnel of sorts that traveled underneath the fence line. The general followed it down without hesitation, and the men pulled up behind her. At the bottom of the slope was a drain grafted into the ground, and flowing into it was several inches of unidentifiable fluid with an even more unidentifiable odor. Several paces into the tunnel, a wrought iron grill stood, blocking their path.

"What is this?" Edgar asked.

"The liquid waste duct."

Locke looked down at his feet, now submerged in the watery substance. "Ew."

"Not that kind of waste, Locke. Exhausted chemicals, liquefied gases, manufacturing runoff."

"So much better," the thief muttered.

"Just don't _swallow_ it, and you'll be fine."

Sabin tugged on the iron gate. It didn't budge. "And how are we getting past this thing?"

Celes turned to Edgar. "You have your chainsaw, don't you?"

"Won't that attract a bit of attention?" He was met with the almost deafening screech of the intermittent grating sound. "Oh."

The general motioned to Locke and Sabin. "Watch for sentries." She gestured to the king. "You can start it up. No one will hear it over the factory noise."

The chainsaw was revved, and when the shrill blare from within the plant sounded, Edgar set the whirling blade against the iron bars. After several rounds, the gate fell in, and the four entered the drain tunnel. The duct ended with a ladder leading up to the ground level. Looking up, they found another iron grate blocking the way. Several metal pipes jutted out from a nearby factory building, each dripping a nameless liquid down into the drain. Sabin climbed up the ladder to push on the grill, and the covering easily lifted away. When the four had climbed out of the drain tunnel, Celes led them out of the junkyard and through one of the shipment dock doors.

The first thing that could be said as they came into the factory's main floor was that everything was moving. Steam powered pistons and compressors rose and fell. Conveyor belts transported endless processions of various magic-enhanced equipment: rifles, swords, armor. Large mechanical arms swung back and forth carrying crates of supplies, faulty products, and finished creations. Heavy hammers and compactors pounded down to mold metal and plastic materials. Sparks flew from the grating of metal being cut, welded, and galvanized by automated blowtorches at several stations. Lights flashed, steam hissed, and gears screeched. A network of catwalks hung overhead, running along the outer walls and crisscrossing over pivotal points in the manufacturing line.

Locke fingered the edge of a large case, eyeing the stack of broadswords within. Each blade was swathed in tongues of unnatural red flame. A second case next to it held swords of crystalline blue, a white mist shrouding the lot. A third case contained blades of golden hues. When the thief touched one, he jumped at the static shock that coursed through his fingers. Seeing that his companions had gone on ahead, Locke turned to follow, but in a last second urge, he paused just long enough to pull a Flametongue and an Icebrand out from their respective cases. The thief jogged to catch up to the others, offering the icy blade to Celes. The general awarded him a withering glare. Shrugging, Locke instead handed the blade to Edgar and tested the weight of his own Flametongue as they walked.

As the other two men were occupied inspecting the thief's pilfered weapons, Sabin fell in step next to Celes. "Where are the workers?"

She spared him a glance. "What workers?"

It was several seconds before her meaning sunk in. "Ah."

They passed through two more nearly identical factories on their way. These two, however, were devoted entirely to the manufacturing of the dragon-like Magitek Armors. From what the men could tell, there were four different models in the series, all being assembled before their very eyes. Celes unconsciously named them to herself as she saw them. There were the original First Class Armors that Locke and Edgar had run into at Figaro, and Sabin at Doma. It was the jack of all trades with moderate firepower and speed, sturdy structure, and all-terrain capability. Their smaller cousins were the Proto Armors; lighter weight and faster, but more fragile and less powerful. The Heavy Armors lived up to their name, colossal in size and power but limited in maneuverability. Finally came the Mega Armors. Newest in the line, they were a hybrid of the First Class and Heavy Armors. Fortified with a compact frame of the strongest steel, it had the size and terrain capabilities of the First Class, but it was also able to withstand the backlash of the Heavy's megaton cannons.

Edgar watched the production in fearful awe. "Gods…how can we contend with this?"

Celes paused and took in the sight of the emperor's abominations—just a few of many. "Therein lies the fallacy of war. It doesn't determine who is right—only who is left."

The king regarded the Imperial with a look of surprise. "Wise words."

"When you have made war as I have…" The general didn't complete her thought. Instead, she shook herself and resumed her stride. "We're almost there."

After traversing a winding path of corridors, the Returners abruptly found themselves entering a large laboratory. Alternating rows of lab counters and exam tables filled the main room with wash stations scattered among them. Many of the tables were equipped with leather or even metal restrains. Trays of instruments waiting to be sterilized sat out haphazardly on the counters and exam tables, along with racks of glass test tubes, packaged syringes, and countless other supplies.

Cords, tubes, and ducts hung from the ceiling, some connected to unidentifiable machinery, others not. Large circular panels of steel dotted the ceiling over the tables. The mechanical hinges on one side suggested their ability to open and allow a piece of equipment to be lowered in. Numerous doors lined the walls, leading into private offices, smaller labs, surgery suites, storage rooms, hazard disposal, and other areas. Like the factories, ramparts hugged the walls on the second level of each room. There wasn't a living soul in sight.

"Quiet as a tomb."

"Not a comforting thought, Locke," Edgar mumbled.

"I was expecting more security…"

Celes gave no response to the thief's subtle inquiry. Perhaps it was because she didn't have an answer. Perhaps it was because they wouldn't like the answer if she gave it to them. Or perhaps it was because she was distracted by a particular station of the main lab area. She let her fingers graze one of the tables, ice-blue eyes staring at the cold steel.

_A mere infant, strapped to the steel table. Everything was gray. The instruments. The table. The machines. The lab technicians. Everything, gray. Bright rays of colorless light illuminated the infant, glaring up off the metal table. The child opened her dark eyes. A thick syringe filled with fluorescent blue liquid, cold to the touch, was plunged into a tiny neck. Dark eyes hid under gray lids. The infant cried. The arctic liquid disappeared, and the needle was removed. The infant screamed, and a blinding flash flared from her palms, knocking the technicians back. White frost coated the gray. Eyes opened, revealing icy blue orbs. It wasn't the beginning, nor was it the end._

"What does this thing do?"

Snapping out of her reverie, Celes turned to Locke and glanced at the instrument he held. An odd look came over her face. "…it's a speculum."

"For what?"

The general turned on her heel and continued walking. "It opens a woman's cervix for artificial insemination."

Fumbling the instrument as though it suddenly burned, Locke dropped it to the steel table with a loud _clang_. "Ah…"

"Between human and Esper?" Edgar asked, feeling a bit queasy.

"A half-Esper has far greater potential than the average Magitek soldier," Celes elaborated, sounding almost bored. "As far as I know, there's been no successful fertilization of the two except for a single natural conception."

"Natural…?" The king nodded as it dawned on him. "Terra."

Sabin regarded the general with a sidelong glance. "You're not 'average,' are you?"

"Standard infusion procedures are done on adults and take less than an hour. Because of this, their potential is severely limited. My procedure was a bit more…involved." The men were silent, waiting for her to elaborate. "Even as a mere clump of cells growing in a petri dish, I was modified, cultivated, and enhanced. An Esper's essence, in its purest untainted form, was grafted onto my genetic structure, woven into the very fiber of my being. Postpartum and on into early adolescence, I underwent advanced infusions to boost the initial. As I matured, so did the magic."

"If it was so successful, why didn't Gestahl start all his knights that way?" the martial artist wondered.

"At first, he tried, but none the earliest test subjects survived. Such exhaustive genetic engineering came with a price. After countless failures, and knowing the money and effort behind my creation, the emperor decided that a large scale, high caliber infusion program wouldn't be efficient. Soon after, the lab's head scientist perfected the 'flash infusion.'"

"Quantity over quality," Edgar muttered.

"With no other nation on the planet able to match the Empire's Magitek, it didn't matter. Besides, he had his few exceptionals to make up for it."

"The Triumvirate. And Terra."

"Yes," came the simple response.

Celes stopped in front of a thick steel door. Heavy air-pressured beams just above the handle extended across the doorjamb to a steel housing on the wall, barring the door shut. A small circular window granted a limited view beyond. Not much could be seen except for an eerie bluish glow. A security console with a keypad and a slot for a keycard sat on the wall, and a large hazard sign hung next to the steel door. '**Restricted. Authorized Personnel Only. All Persons Entering Containment Must Adhere To Sterile And Safety Regulations.**'

"Sterile?" Locke wondered.

Celes fiddled with the panel on the wall. "In a manner of speaking. They call it the 'Freezer.' It's where the Espers and other specimens are…stored."

The general pried the plastic casing away from the wall and poked through the wires attached behind it. Taking Locke's dirk, she cut the two wires connected to the keycard access. Snapping the panel back onto the wall, she punched in her security code. With a _hiss_ and a _click_, the steel bars retracted, and the door handle unlocked. Celes walked through the door without ceremony.

The soft blue light shed just enough luminosity on the walkway for sure footing. The lengthy aisle led to another steel door at the other end. Though the rest of the room was cast in shadows, the men could see a column of glass along either wall. A faint glow from an indeterminate source made it possible to discern dark silhouettes housed behind the glass.

"We can't linger here," Celes stated before the men could question.

She could only watch in dismay, though, as Locke flipped several switches on the wall. Row by row, the lights above the glass cells flickered on, illuminating the forms within. To the Returners' surprise and horror, they were human, chained to a vertical table with various tubes and cables entering their bodies. Most were male. Some were female. All were naked. Each was missing an arm or leg, a hand or foot, an ear or eye, or any combination of body parts. Some had streaks of scarring over vital areas of their body: lungs, kidneys, liver, spleen. All looked like death. Metal plates labeled each cell as a number. Not a name. Just a number.

"Who were they?" Sabin asked hesitantly.

"You mean, who _are_ they?" Celes corrected flatly.

As if to punctuate her point, a muffled moan broke into the quiet of the Freezer. One of the bodies twitched. Another lifted her head and stared with empty eyes at the intruders. Another tried to work his lips to plead in vain. Soon, the silence turned into a grisly chorus of moans and whimpers.

"Gods, they're still alive…"

Celes' tone was as indecipherable as her expression. "Traitors. Nonconformists. Thieves. Spare parts harvested from people deemed to be unmissed by society."

Locke held a hand over his mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick…"

"It's called Devil's Lab for a reason," the general said dismissively. "I never said it would be pretty."

"We have to help them," Edgar insisted.

Celes turned away and continued deeper into the Freezer. "Leave them."

"But—"

"I said leave them!" the general snapped. "We don't have time…There's nothing you can do." Celes kept walking, no longer waiting to see if her companions were following or not.

It was unclear if her last two statements were interrelated, or if they were separate entities altogether. Were it the former, it would be a simple matter of harsh reality: time was not on their side. Were it the latter, however, then not only were the poor souls too far gone to be saved, but the general lacked the compassion to try, living up to her title of The Heartless. The thought made chills run up the men's spines. Indeed, Celes seemed to have lost whatever sense of warmth she had picked up over the last few weeks the moment she stepped within the city's boundaries.

Sparing one last prolonged glance at the poor souls trapped in limbo, the men took heavy steps after Celes. Reaching the end of the aisle, they passed through the second steel door into a similarly lit space. Instead of glass cells lining the walls, however, they found massive capsules suspended on thick cables from the ceiling. Unfamiliar bestial shapes inhabited the pods. A large computer console lined the wall at the end of the walkway. By automated sensor, the lights turned on, causing several of the creatures to stir.

Some were large, taking up the entire space, while others were dwarfed by the sheer size of their prison. As closely as they could be related to the creatures of the human realm, there was a horse with a golden mane, a green-skinned boar, and even a mammoth whale. There was a misty specter that floated on air, a hulking and devilish canine with a fiery mane, and a squirrel-like creature of iridescent blues and greens with a ruby on its forehead. A humanoid in a simple loin cloth, appearing male with bulky muscles, long horns, and curved claws, sat with his head hung.

Celes paused under the final specimen: the most striking, captivating, and attractive of the group. Another humanoid, this one clearly female. Blue, almost translucent skin was covered in patches of ice and a shimmering sarong. Brilliant blue dreads hung from her head, adorned with gold cords and silver hoops. Her face was hardened into a cold mask and stunningly beautiful nonetheless. Piercing sapphire eyes, glinting with intelligence and indifference, stared down at the general. An eerie resemblance to the reflection Celes saw of herself in Narshe.

_I know you…_

Celes flinched at the words echoing in her ears and broke from her gaze. "There are your Espers," she told the Returners.

The horned male lifted his head. His deep voice reverberated within his glass prison. **"You…want to help us."**

As the male Esper spoke to the Returners, the icy female whispered to Celes' mind as though to say what her brother could not. _You can't help us._

"**You want to make things right."**

_Do you know what 'right' is?_

"**So many of our kind have perished…"**

_And so many more will follow._

"**Ramuh trusted humans with his powers."**

_Ramuh was a fool._

"**Are humans the only ones who can end this war?"**

_It was humans who started this war._

"…**our deaths are nigh."**

_Still we won't rest._

"**We will entrust our powers to you."**

_The lesser of two evils._

"**Goddesses guide you."**

With an ethereal chime, a blinding light erupted from within each of the capsules. When it faded, glowing stones of ruby, sapphire, emerald, garnet and others sat at the bottom of the glass tubes. A final thought echoed in Celes' mind.

_Pray it be enough._

Shaking themselves from their awe, the men focused on the task of freeing the mystical beasts. While Locke and Sabin inspected the glass prisons from the ground, Edgar pored over the computer console, sighing in exasperation at the security login screen. He turned to Celes just in time to watch her raise a hand, two fingers outstretched, and slowly turn in a complete circle. Even with that barest gesture, a thick sheet of ice coated each capsule. At the end of her rotation, the general casually snapped her fingers. The ice shattered, the glass along with it. The glowing gems fell to the floor in a shower of shards.

Noticing the odd looks the men were giving her, Celes merely shrugged. "We don't have time to bypass security," she explained, motioning for Locke and Sabin to collect the Espers' remains.

Edgar stared at the computer console as though he expected it to leap up and bite him. "Will it set off any alarms?"

Celes gave him a look. "Of course, but they'll be little more than redundancy at this point?"

Blue eyes swiveled around to meet hers. "What?"

"Did you really think it would be that easy? There are hundreds of hidden security cameras, laboratory and containment access alerts, motion sensors at every duct entrance and exit—including the one we came in—and a dozen other security measures that I won't bore you with. A cockroach couldn't get into this facility without someone knowing about it."

A glare was slowly taking over Edgar's features. "Meaning?"

Unperturbed, Celes held his stare. "They're already waiting for us."

The king cursed. "So you let us walk into a trap…?"

"I said I could get you in," she reminded evenly. "I never said I could get you out."

"You could have warned us!"

"To what end? I'm not the one who insisted on coming here. I've told you before, the Espers don't concern me."

"Then why did you come?" the king demanded, fists clenched.

A giggle broke into their escalating quarrel. "Well, that is the question, now isn't it?"

Celes closed her eyes, the inevitable taste of bile rising in her throat. In an instant, she whirled on her heel, hand outstretched, a glowing white mist on her fingertips.

Kefka raised a single slender finger. "I wouldn't."

His eyes flickered up to the second-level ramparts lining the room. Celes followed his gaze, finding over two dozen Imperial soldiers surrounding them, all bearing Magitek rifles. She looked down to her own chest to see six red dots dancing across her armor. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the same laser sighting trained on the Returners. Two officers, both similarly armed, flanked the jester.

"Clever," she muttered, lowering her hand.

Kefka clucked his tongue. "Poor little general, all caught up in a strife that won't let go. Dragged along the tracks of a runaway train, the twists and turns of your shame and betrayal spiraling your doomed life hopelessly out of control. What _did_ you hope to find here, Celes? Mercy? Forgiveness? Or perhaps a simple end to it all? A way to finally roll over and die while still preserving your pride and dignity? To have the satisfaction of going out with a bang instead of a whimper?"

She didn't respond. She feared knowing the answer, but more than that, she feared that he spoke the truth.

"Code of silence?" Kefka guessed. "As though it can protect you?" He shook his head, ponytail wagging lazily behind him. "You came home, Celes. You did exactly what was expected of you, like the good little girl you are. But nothing can protect you now."

Locke finally spoke. "You knew…" For all intents and purposes, it was a simple statement of fact. That, however, didn't hide the trace of accusation. "You knew they'd be waiting for you. For us."

Just as his statement bore the blunt weight of betrayal, so hers took on the sharp edge of resentment. "Ignorance is bliss. Don't fault me for yours."

"You double-crossing whore," Edgar spat.

"The White Raven hard at work," Kefka drawled. "Pure and innocent on the outside, dark and treacherous on the inside. That's the general I know and adore. Truly, Celes, I'm pleased to see you haven't lost your cold touch. I was worried you had grown soft. In fact, you and I are a lot alike. It's just…" He shrugged. "You outgrew the spotlight."

"You always were jealous of the attention Father gave me."

The jester's airy tone vanished, a painted eyebrow rising at the term of affection the woman hadn't uttered since they were children. "It was _Father's_ pampering that was your downfall, Celes. He may have made you a knight, but _he_ was the one who encouraged your flaws, nurtured your weaknesses."

"Speaking from experience?"

The slap of his hand connecting with her face echoed throughout the Freezer. Celes' head snapped to the side with the strike, and frigid anger crept over her features. Her hands clenched into tight fists as she eyed the snipers poised above her.

"Insolent bitch," Kefka hissed.

Celes touched a knuckle to the corner of her lip, feeling the sting of the jester's hand. "The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"Hand over your sword and find out." The lady general again glanced up at the soldiers on the ramparts, and Kefka shook his head. "Don't make this more unpleasant than it has to be. We wouldn't want it to get messy."

In a quick and forceful motion, she drew the sword from the sheath on her back. The two men flanking Kefka stepped forward and raised their rifles, but the jester held up a hand. Without tearing her glare from her fellow general, Celes hesitated a final moment before throwing her blade to the ground at his feet.

"Wise choice, Celes."

Kefka gestured to his two escorts, who promptly shouldered their weapons and moved to bind Celes' hands behind her back. Even as she submitted the humiliation, she never took her steely gaze off the smiling jester until the officers began forcibly leading her out of the facility. The Returners looked on with mixed feelings.

Kefka clapped his hands together as he faced the three men. "Now! I believe you have something I want. Let's have that wondrous little collection of magicite you—" The jester cut himself off and abruptly whipped around, hearing Celes muttering under her breath. His eyes widened in panic. "What is she saying? Stop her! Shut her up! SHUT HER UP!"

The blonde struggled against her captors, turning towards the rebels and raising her voice in defiance. The air around the Returners shimmered and wavered. Celes met their shocked expressions for a mere instant before a blow to the temple from the butt of a rifle crumpled her to the floor. The incantation, however, was complete, and the rebels vanished from the facility.

"Remove her," Kefka snarled to his escorts.

As Celes was carried out of the labs, an older man in a yellow hazard coat came running in, his eyes wide at seeing the broken capsules and missing Espers. "What in the devil happened here?"

The jester ignored him, staring at the spot the Returners had disappeared from and mumbling under his breath. "Daddy will not be pleased."

* * *

In the grand throne room of the Imperial Palace, three generals stood. Two were situated on either side of the emperor, in opposition over a most troublesome matter. The third stood before him in chains, her head lowered and eyes set on her hands. Other officers stood about the chamber, their ranks rendering them privy to such an audience.

Aurelius Gestahl himself sat on his throne, listening wordlessly to the dispute while staring dispassionately at the woman in front of him. It should have been a joyous occasion. The Daughter of Vector, a young woman he thought of as his own, had returned. The manner in which she returned, however, was more than a little disconcerting to him.

She had been labeled a traitor by her peers and underlings, stripped of weapon and uniform. Her temple was gashed and bruised from blunt-force trauma. Her pale skin was scrubbed raw, and her hair had been cut and shaved down to almost nothing; results of the harsh decontamination process for all non-sterile personnel present during the breach of the research lab's sterile sanctum. The chains that bound her emitted magnetic pulses that conflicted with her mystical energies, dampening her powers.

As supreme ruler of the Vectoran Empire, it was essential for him to preserve an air of impartiality, lest he lose face in front of his subjects. The sight before him was testing the limits of his equanimity.

General Palazzo, bearing the same marks of decontamination, had been on a rant for quite some time. "My liege, she has betrayed you and all of Vector by her willing association with the rebel forces bent on destroying our great nation."

"With all due respect to my peer," General Cristophe interrupted, "it has been affirmed that General Chere's men mutinied against her, violently deposed her, arrested her, and condemned her absent due cause and without any authority from Vector. If I may suggest to His Majesty the notion of self-preservation on the part of the lady. Surely had she not seized on the opportunity of escape created by the rebels, she would have been killed, and one of your greatest assets would have been lost."

"And just what are you insinuating, _General_?" Kefka challenged. "That she had no choice in her actions thereafter? That she had no choice but to resist arrest and further combat and kill Imperial soldiers? That she had no alternative to assisting the rebels in infiltrating our most guarded facilities to steal Imperial property? That she was forced to aid their escape?"

"When caught between life and death, one must sometimes make unseemly decisions in order to survive," Leo countered. "As you yourself have noted, General Chere returned to Vector of her own will despite the violent attempts made against her."

Kefka practically shook with rage. "She has broken the _chain_! She_ must _be_ judged_!"

The emperor remained silent as he kept his impassive gaze fixed on his foster daughter, watching as she made no effort to defend herself. Finally, he gave the smallest of nods. "So be it."

With a quickened intake of breath, Celes lifted her eyes to meet those of her liege. Gestahl was dismayed to see a glistening trail down her cheek, her expression otherwise cold. It took every bit of will the old ruler had to not let the tremble in his voice be heard.

"The Tribunal will convene, and they will decide your fate. Until that time, you will remain in solitary confinement."

The blonde did not resist when two guardsmen took her by the arms, nor did she register the mixed reactions of those present as she was led away. Some bowed their heads, unable to watch one of their cherished commanders submit to such disgrace. A few even dared to salute her. Others, though, looked ready to spit on her as she passed.

Leo, ever the stalwart leader, showed only neutrality.

Kefka barely contained a sneer of contempt.

As she was led though the fortress bowels to the cell block, the stares from her fellow soldiers continued: some in scorn, others in pity. Once the guardsmen walked her into her cell, an order was given behind them.

"Remove her chains. She won't be needing them."

As soon as her manacles were unlocked, the guards were given leave by their superior.

Only when they were gone did Celes acknowledge her visitor with a small but formal bow. "General Cristophe."

Leo waved it off. "Lady Celes, you and I are long past such formalities. Why do you insult me with them now?"

Weary, she sat down on the small prison cot. "Given my situation, I felt it was appropriate."

"Nonsense. You are my equal, in spirit if not in title." Leo took a seat next to her. "All will be set right soon."

"Yes, with my hanging," Celes responded grimly.

Leo shook his head. "No one is going to hang you."

The woman thought for a moment. "No, you're right. Beheading is the method of choice for high treason."

"Lady Celes, please do not yield to such pessimism."

"They have a case against me, Leo," the blonde said quietly.

"Not everyone believes you to be a traitor."

"Do you?"

Leo didn't answer right away, but Celes was patient. "…swear to me, on your honor, that you did not actively seek to betray our liege."

"I swear on my honor as a knight of His Royal Majesty that I have never intended to betray my oath to him."

Satisfied, Leo nodded and took her hand in his. "What happened in the aftermath of South Figaro was a matter of circumstance beyond your control. You did what you had to in order to survive. If the Tribunal has a scrap of intelligence between the lot of them, they will realize that."

"We'll see."

The elder general gave her hand a gentle squeeze and took his leave, and she was left in the care of three bronzed-iron walls and a mirrored barrier where the door was seated. The glass, she knew, was protected by an electrostatic current, while the iron emitted the same magic-dampening pulses her chains had. Laying back on the cot, she stared up at the drab brown ceiling.

And she waited.

Two days passed. Perhaps three. She hardly paid attention anymore. She ate the meals she was provided. She did menial exercises to burn her trapped energy. She guessed the height and weight of the guard on duty based on the sound of his pacing. She watched the spider crawl up the slick metal wall to its corner of the ceiling.

And she waited.

She could feel them. Even before the first blast shook the fortress walls, she sensed them coming. Heard their shrieks. Tasted their rage. Smelled their fear. She was drawn into their minds and saw confusion and chaos. Clutching her head, she curled up into a ball, trying to block out the unwelcome awareness searing into her mind.

Screeching alarms broke into the night. A second blast thundered through the Imperial Fortress. Panicked shouts and frantic footfalls echoed from outside the cell block. There was too much noise. She held herself even tighter, and for a brief moment, she wondered if _they_ could sense _her_ amidst the pandemonium.

It lasted just under five minutes and then they were gone, their presence fading away from her perception. She didn't have to see the damage to know its extent. Fire and lightning would have scorched the fortress walls and burned paths throughout the city. Water and ice would have flooded streets and frozen dwellings. Wind would have toppled buildings, and quakes would have split the earth. Lives would have been lost, bodies laying out in the streets or buried under the rubble. Those left alive would have been crying or screaming or panicking or pillaging.

And the Returners would have cursed themselves for their naïveté and overconfidence and stupidity. They would have realized they were fools no better than the Imperials they so detested for thinking they could harness the power of the Espers for their petty war. They would have apologized to Terra for using her as their pawn before planning their next move that would surely exploit her all over again just the same. And Terra would have accepted it because she wouldn't know any better.

* * *

The throne room bustled with anxious chatter. Members of the Royal Council and Elite Guard, advisors and colonels alike, all made their reports to the emperor, all voicing their concern while interrupting their peers. Kefka was still away on assignment, leaving Leo as the only member of the Triumvirate High Command at Gestahl's side. The general stood silently as the emperor attempted to process the chaotic prattle.

"The city is in panic. Rioting has already broken out. What isn't already burning will be—"

"Looters have begun their pillaging. Families are homeless. The wounded and dying are laying out in the stree—"

"Some have even tried to storm the fortress gates."

"We must send the militia out to keep ord—"

"The military itself is in disarray! Most of our competent commanders have been dispatched to occupy the Empire's holdings—"

"The Espers must be retaliated agai—"

"And invoke more of their wrath?"

"Their power is too incredible to let roam the world—"

"The city is in shambles, and all you can think about is power?"

"Enough!" All chatter ceased at Gestahl's bellow. "I will not allow this Empire to collapse into ruin. Times such as these call for Vector to show her unity and strength. It is thus by my supreme authority, in this hour of chaos, that I grant emergency reinstatement to General Chere of all ranks, rights, and possessions."

"But Majesty, the Tribunal—"

"I have invalidated the Tribunal's inquiry. With one of my generals incarcerated and another absent from the capital, this military has become weakened. It is by necessity that General Chere's status will be restored in full."

Leo concealed a smile. It seemed the emperor had found a loophole to save his beloved knight. Kefka would not be pleased when he returned.

"General Cristophe, you and General Chere will organize your troops and reestablish order to the capital."

Leo saluted. "Yes, Majesty."

The general took his leave and strode out of the throne room, away from the bickering officers and cowering diplomats. As he walked, he briefly wondered what had become of the strong proud Empire he once served. When he arrived at the detention block and had the guard open her cell door, Leo found Celes sitting on the edge of her cot, staring down at her hands. He took two steps into the cell, and the blonde slowly looked up to meet his gaze.

He quirked a brow. "Shall we?" Celes cocked her head to the side in questioning. "In wake of the Esper's attack, the emperor has granted you 'emergency reinstatement,'" Leo explained with a ghost of a smirk.

"The trial—"

"Has been terminated. You and I are to calm the disorder in the city. Unless, of course, the lady prefers it in her cell…"

Without a word—in fact, without any expression at all—Celes stood and followed Leo out of the detention block. Side by side, they navigated the corridors in silence. The blonde walked the route to the Officer's Wing mechanically, almost in a daze. When they reached her quarters, Leo handed Celes her security card, and she opened the door without hesitation.

Not more than five steps into the lush suite, a blur of white and gray knocked her flat onto her back. Two large paws landed on her chest, and two silvery blue eyes stared down at her. Perhaps the animal would have been menacing were it not for the fiercely wagging tail and the wild sniffing of a cold nose, quickly followed by the lavishing of a warm tongue.

With a grunt, Celes gently pushed the canine off her chest and rose to her knees. "Missed you, too, Khione," she murmured, ruffling the canine's thick mane.

The tail wagged even harder as Celes stood, to the point that her entire body began to sway with it as she panted excitedly.

"She's been searching the grounds for you for weeks," Leo said needlessly.

Celes gazed down at her furred companion, something akin to fondness in her eyes. She had stumbled upon the wolf hybrid four years before while out on a field assignment as a captain. The pup was only a few weeks old, alone and weak. It was assumed the mother and littermates had been killed. In a rare moment in the young officer's life, a shadow of her inner child surfaced, and she took pity on the pup and brought her back to the palace.

Animals were a forbidden property of Imperial soldiers, where the only dogs allowed were the Vector hounds of the Canine Corps. Of course, Emperor Gestahl was ever fond of his surrogate daughter and made an exception for the future general. The pup, once recovered with the aid of nutrition, shelter, and a caring hand, rarely left her master's side.

"You took care of her?" Celes questioned.

"The servants are afraid of her when you are not around," Leo explained. "As soon as I returned from Doma, I was nearly begged to take over."

"…thank you." The cold nose prodded the blonde's hand, and she again looked down. Khione sat patiently, her ears perked and tail still wagging slowly as she gazed expectantly up at her master. "It was good fortune I decided to leave her here," Celes mused, absently scratching the wolf behind the ears.

"Perhaps a woman's intuition making itself known," Leo offered. He ignored the scathing look his equal sent him. "I suggest you prepare quickly, Lady Celes. We have work to do."

Without another word, the blonde nodded and disappeared into a different room of the suite. Leo smiled to himself when he heard the shower running a few moments later. He took a seat at the other general's large oak desk and patiently waited.

Her shower was brief, and when she reentered her bedroom absent towel or robe, she didn't bother closing the door to the office where Leo still sat; she was not modest, and he was not a fool. She found her uniform, armor, and cloak already laid out on her queen-sized bed for her. Next to them sat a sword, the intricate etchings on both sheath and steel marking it as her Rune Blade. She ran reverent fingers over the curved metal casing, taking a moment to study the palm of her own hand where the pale embossed design of her crafts were scarred into her flesh: Magitek and Rune.

Shaking herself, she began to dress and marveled at how good it felt to have her own uniform back: the supple black leather of her gold-trimmed jerkin; the gold pauldrons and gauntlets custom molded to her shoulders and arms; the black leather steel-toed boots comfortably worn to her feet; the familiar weight of her white cloak hanging from her shoulders. Content, she buckled her sword belt to her waist, ran a hand over her unfamiliarly shaved head, and walked back out into her office.

Leo looked up at his peer, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Standing from the desk, the two traded salutes.

"Welcome home, General Chere."

* * *

_Author's Notes: __Siobhan hints that the village was named after Celes. The 'daughter that died' can be taken as a reference to my story Sins of the Past, so if you've read it, you'll remember that Celes died briefly when she was sixteen/seventeen. It's not a definite reference, though, and I'm purposefully leaving it ambiguous. The point is that Gestahl gave Celes the middle name of Aurelia._

_Khione is the Greek goddess of snow. _

_Finally, "War does not determine who is right—only who is left" is a quote by Bertrand Russell._


	5. Allegiance

**Part V: Allegiance**

It was a simple device.

A long wooden platform raised eight feet off the ground. Hinged doors every few feet designed to fall away with the pull of a lever. A wooden archway overhead with a length of rope hanging above each door. A loop adorning the end of each rope.

Simple.

Ominous.

With the morning sun in her eyes, the general gazed up at the contraption, irises of ice tracing over every plank of wood; every pendant of rope; every curve of the lever's handle.

A raven landed on the southern post of the archway.

Six men in brown uniforms already lay lifeless in a nearby cart, and six more were lining up on the platform to join them. Standing in the middle, most prominent of the lot, were Major Collins and Captain Lowe.

Different men show different reactions when fitted with a noose around their necks. Tears. Prayer. Defiant glares. Numb silence. Cursing or pleading or spitting or trembling.

Lowe soiled himself.

Collins glanced at the hooded officer standing near the lever with disbelieving eyes, then glared down at his true executioner, wondering why he was going to die while she continued to live. The general stared back with an even gaze, her expression set in indecipherable stone.

The raven took flight.

The signal was given.

With a swish of her cloak, the general turned on her heel just as the lever was pulled. The sounds of dropping planks and snapping ropes were at her back as she strode through the compound towards the fortress. The lines of officers and soldiers witnessing the execution saluted as she passed, their crisp precision almost bordering on excess. It may have been the simple play of shadows falling across her face, but the dark look the general wore suggested she was not to be tested, not even by sloppy salutation.

The Tribunal had convened, and the sedition of South Figaro's occupational force had been investigated. Twelve men of the Imperial Chosen Elite Corps had been found guilty of unwarranted mutiny against their commanding officer and sentenced to death. Nearly thirty others of the ICE Corps were convicted of lesser offenses and dishonorably discharged. True to the emperor's word, the general stood untouched by the courts and had ascended to her former status without ceremony. No one questioned it. Those who had remained loyal didn't need to.

Those who hadn't didn't dare to.

There was but one exception.

"_WHAT?_"

Kefka's screech echoed through the palace upon his return. He pointed at the lady general, a mixture of shock and horror written on his face.

"Y-you…you're supposed to be _dead_! Or locked in the Freezer or _something_!"

"I think you have our circumstances reversed," Celes remarked dismissively.

Kefka titled his head, narrowing his eyes. "…_what_?" he nearly growled.

"His Excellency has ordered a full investigation of the Doma siege and your actions thereafter," the blonde explained.

Leo addressed him. "General Kefka Palazzo, you are hereby charged with reckless endangerment, negligence, and war crimes against the sovereign nations of this world, including but not limited to the use of poison, murder, attempted murder, and denial of fair trial—"

"I don't believe this…" the jester muttered.

"—Under the supreme authority of His Excellency Emperor Aurelius Gestahl, you are to be detained until the date of your trial. Colonel Malthus will assume command of the FIRE Corps until your reinstatement or until His Excellency names a suitable successor."

Kefka's form shook. "This…is…_unacceptable. UNACCEPTABLE_!" he shrieked. "All _your_ charges get dropped while I get _court-martialed?_"

"You outgrew the spotlight," Celes told him flatly, mocking their last standoff.

"…I hate you…"

"Excuse me?"

"I hate you," Kefka repeated more firmly, eyes blazing. "I hate you, _I hate you, I HATE YOU, __**I HATE YOU!**_"

Celes didn't even blink. "With a defense like that, you're going to be stuck in the brig a very long time. Now, yoursword."

Grinding his teeth did nothing to calm the tremble in Kefka's hands as he slowly drew his blade and drove it into the ground at the blonde's feet. The lady general continued to watch impassively as the jester was bound and led away.

"How long do you think the courts will hold him?" Leo wondered as he stepped up beside Celes.

"Not long enough," she murmured as she stared at the surrendered sword.

With a nod to her fellow general, she returned to her suite. A stack of paperwork was perched neatly on her desk, awaiting her attention. As soon as she sat down, a gray and white form padded into the office and under the desk, curling up at her feet. She spared the canine a short glance before turning to the work in front of her.

There were the documents from the execution, each needing her final signature to denote the sentence carried out. Likewise, the release papers for those discharged required her mark. Lastly were the set of twelve addressed envelopes, ready to be sent with personally-written letters of condolence to the families of those condemned; ironic with the men's death warrants laying within hand's reach.

She was occupied into the evening until a knock at her door drew her focus from the final letter needing to be written. She bid her caller to enter, and the door opened to reveal one of the emperor's Elite guardsmen, garbed in blood-red robes from head to toe.

"Apologies for the interruption, General, but His Majesty requests your presence in his chambers."

Already halfway out of her chair, Celes hesitated on the last word. It was normal for the generals to hold an audience with their liege in the throne room, but to be summoned to his personal chambers for such a meeting was of a rarer nature.

Regaining her composure, she nodded. "Of course."

With a quiet command to her canine familiar, Celes allowed the guard to lead her through the palace corridors to the emperor's chambers beyond the throne room. They found Leo already waiting outside the door with his own escort. The generals exchanged a wordless greeting, and the two crimson-clad guards took their posts on either side of the chamber entrance. Leo then rapped on the door.

"Enter."

The elder officer turned the handle and motioned for Celes to precede him. Once both generals were inside, the door was closed behind them. In the dim lighting, it took them a moment to locate their liege, but they soon found him standing at the tall window that overlooked his city. His back was turned to them, and he did not speak. They saluted, though it would go unseen, and stood at attention in the middle of the chamber, waiting in patient silence.

When Gestahl finally spoke several minutes later, his voice was smooth and quiet, a sharp contrast to his usual dignified vigor.

"You wonder why I asked you here."

The generals did not respond, and the emperor did not take his gaze away from the window.

"The answer is simple: I do not wish word of this matter to spread prematurely."

No intake of breath, no blink of the eyes, not even the barest shifting of feet betrayed any hint of curiosity the officers may have felt. As an afterthought, Gestahl gestured blindly towards his knights.

"At ease."

Celes and Leo relaxed their stances, folding their hands behind their backs.

"Matters have escalated to the limits of my control. This does not sit well with me. There is a power in this…existence…far greater than our own that we have tried and failed to harness. This trial has turned brother against brother, nation against nation, while our failure has brought devastation to all. The world is divided, and any attempt to make it whole again has only separated us further. I honestly do not recall who raised up arms first. Us or them, it no longer matters. We are all spokes in this great wheel that forever spins us deeper into madness."

There was a breath of silence, a moment of suspense before the hammer stroke fell.

"I want this fighting to cease."

Careful to remain neutral, Leo broke his silence. "You mean to end the war…?"

Gestahl turned his head a fraction towards his generals. "Surely you know your emperor is not the warmonger he is made out to be…?"

Reflexively, the officers straightened their backs that same fraction, but neither were expected to give a verbal reply.

"I never wished for this bloodshed. I grow…weary…of all this."

"You are a great ruler," Leo assured him. "You can put a stop to this vicious cycle."

"There is only one way to end it." Finally, Gestahl turned from the window and met the gazes of his generals. "Extend an invitation of peace to the Returners."

Celes and Leo each pushed down the urge to look at the other. Though his words rang with sincerity, the glint in his reddened eyes told of his desire for something far less innocent than peace.

* * *

Terra could not conceal the tremble of her form as she and her companions stared up at the Imperial Fortress. They had so far walked freely through the city without incident, but the towering gate before them and the fortified palace that lie beyond it were less than inviting.

On either side of the iron archway, two Magitek Armors stood guard. The pilots spared them no second glance as they cautiously approached. Once through the gate, the Returners made their way up the long expanse of stone steps leading to the fortress entrance. The mammoth double doors before them were laboriously pulled open by four sentries in brown uniforms.

Terra watched the Imperials with a wary eye. "I don't like this."

"Nor should you," a familiar voice answered. Eyes widened as Celes appeared in the doorway. "You're walking into the dragon's den." The blonde turned, beckoning them with her head. "Come. This way." The lady general walked a few paces back into the palace, pausing when she noticed the Returners weren't following. "I'm not going to bite, Terra."

Shaking herself of the shock, the half-Esper sprinted to catch up as the Imperial resumed her step. "You're alive."

"Aren't I usually?"

"The others…they said that you…"

Celes quirked a brief bittersweet smile but didn't finish the girl's sentence as she strode through the fortress corridors.

The king of Figaro bluntly filled in the gap, watching her carefully. "We thought they would've executed you by now."

"Why, Edgar, you almost sound disappointed," the general noted calmly.

The monarch opened his mouth to retort, but a look from Terra silenced him. The mage took in Celes' appearance as they walked, namely her brusquely short military haircut.

"What did they do to you?"

"Decontamination," came the equally brusque reply.

Though the fortress was comfortably warm, a fading chill permeated the air in Celes' wake; commonplace for those accustomed to her presence but unsettling nonetheless. Of the sentries they encountered, some nodded civilly. Others glared. Some ignored them completely.

After traversing the maze-like hallways and climbing a grand staircase, they came to what the Returners could only assume was the entrance to the palace proper. The thick steel doors were almost as large as those leading into the fortress had been. Celes withdrew a keycard from her pocket and swiped it through the security console while pressing her thumb to the touch pad. The muted sounds of sliding pistons and unlatching locks along with the hiss of depressurizing air could be heard through the thick metal. The doors inched open with the help of four more guards posted on the far side.

Celes turned to face Terra. "Are you sure you want to do this? It's not too late to turn back. You won't be stopped."

Though the hesitation was clear on her face, the green-haired mage shook her head. "No, I…I have to."

Celes nodded once in acknowledgment and walked through the doors. "No enemy force has ever stepped foot within the citadel. Congratulations," she added dryly.

The décor of the corridors marked a definite change from the military fortress to the royal palace. The slick metal floors were replaced with blood-red carpet. The heavy industrial light fixtures were traded for antique lanterns lining the walls. Framed paintings and archaic artifacts were mounted between the lights. Banners of black, red, and gold, every fourth bearing the Imperial insignia, hung from the ceiling.

They turned down a corridor even more lushly decorated than the others. Eight Elite guards lined either side, their eyes straight ahead, their red cloaks and helms pristine, and their spears held at perfectly uniform angles. Pair by pair, the guards snapped their halberds upright in impeccable unison as Celes passed by. A set of ornate double doors stood at the end of the passage, and the last two Elitists moved together to pull them open.

The lady general stopped short of the threshold, stepping aside and motioning for the Returners to enter. The others hesitated, reluctant to continue on without their familiar, albeit questionable, escort.

"I have another matter to attend to before dinner," she explained. "Until then, General Cristophe will be joining you shortly."

Putting a hand on Terra's shoulder, Edgar stepped in front of her and cautiously entered the throne room first. Celes' gaze stayed on Terra as she followed the king in, Sabin on her heels. Locke regarded her—or perhaps the painfully familiar onyx uniform she wore—with a troubled glance as he slunk by. The general's focus, though, turned to Cyan as he stalked past her. She held the Doman's stare as he searched for any trace of deception in her eyes. He was frustrated to find the Imperial's expression impassive, betraying no hint of her thoughts.

Her task completed, the general turned on her heel and strode back down the corridor. The doors closed behind her, and the guards held their spears at attention until she was out of sight.

The Returners found themselves in a room far less lavishly-decorated than expected. Save for its sheer size and the cathedral ceiling towering above them, the throne room was rather plain in comparison to some of the corridors they had come through.

In place of the blood-tinged runners of the hallways, a rich black carpet covered much of the floor. The walls were not the usual bronze but were rather a dark pewter color and held no artistic paraphernalia. Light was provided by a set of simple iron chandeliers hanging on chains from the ceiling. Several nondescript doors lined the side walls, an Elite guard standing statue like between each one. A trio of steps running the width of the room led up to the single piece of furniture the space contained.

The throne was empty.

The chair was the only ornate object in view. It was made of solid oak with intricate carvings inlaid by gold leaf, and the plush velvet cushions were a deep red. Two banners with the Imperial emblem hung overhead, both crimson.

Behind the throne was a large windowed alcove cut into the wall, reaching almost to the ceiling. From her vantage point, Terra caught sight of a regally-robed form gazing out of the glass panes over the city, and she struggled to ignore the chill running up her spine.

Promptly, one of the doors on their left opened. A darker-skinned man relatively young in years approached them, wearing the same black, gold-trimmed jerkin as Celes along with an emerald cloak hanging from his shoulders. Embroidered onto the back of the cape was the Imperial Eagle spread-winged atop two crossed swords.

"Gentlemen," he greeted cordially. He turned to the woman of the group with a slight bow. "Lady Terra. I am Leo Cristophe. I trust you made it here without difficulty?"

Edgar, though civil, chose not to match the general's friendly manner. "Surprisingly little."

"Recent events have been a bit of a whirlwind. I can understand your unease and your distrust. Rest assured, the emperor is eager to meet with you in hopes that we may put this bad blood behind us and start anew." He gestured towards the throne. "This way, please."

The Returners approached the dais, and the figure at the window stirred, turning from the window. As he drew closer, Gestahl let his eyes drift over each of his guests. He seemed to linger on Terra, a sidelong glance protecting her from the full intensity of his gaze. Even so, the girl barely contained a shiver.

Reaching the front of the dais, the emperor did not sit on his throne but rather stood next to it.

"Welcome. Welcome to the heart of Vector. You needn't fear being within these walls. I assure you nothing but the utmost hospitality will be shown for as long as you are guests in my house. You will all receive accommodations, of course, for the duration of your stay."

Once again, Edgar spoke for the others. "And just how long is 'our stay' expected to be?"

"That is a matter entirely up to you and your companions," Gestahl answered elusively. "You have come a long way. I've had the servants prepare something of a banquet. Let us continue this over a fine meal, shall we?"

Under Leo's guidance, the Returners passed through one of the side doors into the formal dining hall. A long table blanketed with a snowy white cloth took up most of the room, a massive red and black area rug underfoot. Gold-rimmed wine glasses and water goblets, silverware, satin napkins, and lidded dinner plates were already set in place in front of each oaken seat. Crimson-swathed guards stood at attention along the back walls. Four other Elitists stood a little ways off from the table, hands folded at their backs.

Gestahl sat first, his chair in the middle and looking almost like a second throne. As Edgar took his seat across from their host with his friends on either side of him, Leo sat on Gestahl's right. The door behind the Returners opened, and Celes swept into the hall, wordlessly taking her place on Gestahl's left. The four Elitists were the last to sit, two on either side of the generals. The only differences the rebels could discern between these four men and the sentries at the wall were the gold helms in place of red and the appearance of being unarmed. The generals, however, both had a sword at their side.

Once everyone was settled, a quartet of servants entered from the adjoining kitchen and lifted the lids from everyone's plate, revealing large portions of roasted pheasant and steamed vegetables. Baskets of rolls were placed around the table with butter dishes and seasoning shakers. Tall glass bottles were then brought in, one of the servers immediately filling the emperor's empty goblet with the dark burgundy liquid.

Gestahl's slanting stare again came to rest on Terra despite speaking to the entire group. "Try the wine. It's excellent."

The mage held back another shudder, though she couldn't help but drop her chin lower over her plate. Even as Gestahl turned to his wine glass, she continued to feel a pair of eyes on her, this one familiar without her remembering it, comforting without her knowing why. Only when Terra drew strength enough to lift her head back up did Celes look away. For a brief instant, the girl wondered if the blonde, too, was affected as harshly by the emperor's gaze.

Gestahl began to eat, cueing the others to start as well. He remained silent as he slowly cleaned his plate, either not noticing or not caring that the Returners were too anxious to do much more than poke at their food.

It wasn't until about halfway through the meal that Terra noticed the generals were not drinking the wine. In fact, both their goblets were empty, having never been filled to begin with. The notion would have worried her were it not for Gestahl being well on his way to a second glass. Edgar matched the emperor's pace, while Sabin took only a few sips out of formality. Cyan had thus far refused to touch his at all, stubbornly leaving the goblet full. Locke had downed his in a single gulp, repeating the gesture a second and third time as soon as the servants refreshed his glass.

Her own goblet sat readily forgotten.

Just as Locke knocked back his fourth glass of wine—nervousness, she assumed—Terra forced a bite of pheasant into her mouth.

"War is a fickle thing."

The mage jumped at the sudden break in stillness, expending all her energy into not choking on her food or dropping her fork. Soon after, she felt a light squeeze to her knee—all the comfort Locke dared give as Gestahl continued, oblivious.

"When it begins, one has a firm grasp of its direction; attainable goals and recognizable foes. And yet it happens that ever so gradually, he loses sight of that which he first set eyes on. The weeks become months, and the months become years until finally two decades have passed, and he sits across from his supposed enemy, unable to remember why the war began in the first place. That is where I find myself today; the last twenty years of my reign a nonsensical blur. War is a fickle thing," he repeated quietly.

"There are those here who remember _exactly_ why the war began," Edgar countered. "War never has a singular starting point. For each person, it begins differently, through different events and for different reasons. It could be the murder of a father or lover or child; an identity stolen and abused; or a simple flip of a coin. The root origin may be the same, but I wouldn't be so naïve as to think that all share in your non-recollection."

The generals straightened in their seats, but Gestahl merely held the king's gaze with an even stare. Terra held her breath, as she was sure others around the table were. When Gestahl finally leaned back in his seat, there was a collective, though outwardly unseen, sigh of relief.

"…you are absolutely right. There is no singularity. War does not begin just once. It begins a thousand times, branding its terrible truth on a thousand faces. This is how I know it can't go on. I witnessed the devastation those Espers caused—the frightful power they possess—and I realized something. If we continue down this course, what happened to Vector will be a mere shadow of the fate that will befall the world. I have been leading this nation, this world, on the path to utter destruction. I seek to rectify the havoc my foolish ambitions have wrecked."

From behind crossed arms, Cyan was next in line to challenge the emperor. "I fear many of the Empire's atrocities cannot _be_ rectified. The annihilation of Doma, for instance, cannot be undone."

"No…it cannot," Gestahl agreed. "However, it is still my desire to make amends to the best of my ability. The occupational forces will be withdrawn, and a peace corps will be sent in to help clean up the poison."

"Which means nothing if the man responsible is left unpunished."

The emperor nodded in understanding. "General Palazzo was placed under military arrest earlier this week and will be brought to trial for his crimes against your kingdom, Lord Garamonde, as well as others. Kefka has gone beyond his mandate on more than one occasion, and he will be punished for it. Now, with your permission, I'd like to move on to why I asked you here."

Fearing she would begin to squirm in discomfort if she didn't distract herself, Terra let her attention shift to observing everyone else. Next to her, Edgar was focused on the emperor. Beside his brother, Sabin watched the Elite guardsmen both seated at the table and lining the walls. Cyan, on the prince's far side, kept a firm glare on the two generals. Locke, on Terra's other side, was fixated on Celes, only occasionally letting his eyes wander around the table.

Directly across from her, Celes seemed more interested in her plate, though Terra knew better than to assume the blonde's mind was anywhere but on the conversation at hand. Seated at Gestahl's other side, Leo's gaze was calm, but there was a quiet strength behind it as he looked from face to face.

There was something very familiar about the man, but the intangible answer only aggravated her discomfort further. It was only during a drastic shift in atmosphere around the table that Terra reverted her attention, however reluctantly, to the emperor.

"In return I ask only one thing."

"And that is?" Edgar prompted.

Gestahl, doing what he had put off the entire evening, turned his full gaze on the green-haired mage. "Terra."

Each of the male Returners stiffened, while the girl herself paled considerably. The walls seemed to close in at that very instant, with all the air being sucked out of the room.

"Allow me to explain," the emperor requested calmly.

Edgar clenched his jaw, his tone bordering on dangerous. "Please do."

"The Espers that have entered our world…we need to reach them, assure them the war is over and make peace with them _and _their brethren. Who more capable of this incredible task do we have among us than Terra?"

"She's not your puppet anymore," the king reminded tightly. "Do you honestly think we'll just let you use her to meet your own ends again?"

Lifting her eyes from her plate, Celes spoke for the first time. "Is it not the same as _you_ sending her to the Sealed Gate?"

Edgar's mouth snapped shut, and he flinched back as though he had been physically struck.

Taking advantage of the lull, Leo attempted to put things in perspective. "Gentlemen, the matter is this: we need to communicate with the Espers. Therefore, we need someone to whom they will respond, someone they will not see as a threat. Terra is the bridge between our worlds."

Locke scoffed. "I was under the impression you had plenty of 'bridges' right here in your palace. Why does it have to be Terra?"

"Because despite her past…exploitation…" the male general began carefully, "Terra is not an instrument of war."

"You're the ones who brought this war on in the first place!" Edgar exclaimed, his voice rising. "It's not her job to rectify it!"

"Why don't you let Terra decide?" Celes posed quietly. Once again, the table was stunned speechless. "You're all sitting here bickering as though she's not in the room. If you're such an advocate for Terra's freedom, why not try letting her have it for once? Or have you even thought to ask her what she wants?"

Leaning back in his seat, Gestahl searched the faces of those across from him. His general had effectively put the argument to rest, and there was no sign of response from the Returners. The young mage in question remained silent. Whether out of fear, indecision, or both, he did not know.

"Should you, Terra, agree to aid us, I would be placing General Cristophe in command of the expedition. General Chere would also accompany you to provide additional mystical support should the need arise."

"_Two_ of the Triumvirate?" Sabin wondered, breaking his muteness. "Seems a bit overkill for a peace mission."

"I will spare no resource in this quest. Too much depends on its success."

"And out of curiosity," Locke began, "what happens if the Espers don't share your 'vision of peace'?"

Gestahl's gaze seemed to sharpen. "A bridge to be crossed if and when we come to it."

Somewhere in the midst of her internal panic, Terra found her voice, pitiful thought it may have been. "…and if I don't agree…?"

Gestahl glanced at Celes, and Terra's earlier question was answered. The general's water goblet froze halfway to her lips under her liege's stare and only resumed its travel when he looked away. The mage wasn't entirely sure if she was more comforted by this or more frightened.

"Then it will be General Chere in your place," the emperor answered, his tone inscrutable.

Terra's head dropped down again. "I…I don't know…"

He waved it off. "You needn't answer now. By all means, take some time to decide." Gestahl stood from his seat, quickly followed by the generals and Elitists. "My knights will take care of any of your requirements for the evening. For now, I will retire."

The two generals gave slight bows as the emperor excused himself from the table, and the gold-helmed guards trailed behind him in pairs out of the dining hall. With a nearly imperceptible nod to her colleague, Celes took her leave as well, bringing up the rear of Gestahl's entourage. Leo turned to address the Returners.

"If you're ready, I'll show you to the Guest Wing. Your rooms should already be prepared for you, but feel free to wander about the palace for a while once you get settled in."

* * *

Though freed of their Imperial escort, the Returners lingered awkwardly in the Guest Wing corridor, each hesitant to separate from the safety of the group. Terra very suddenly felt out of place amongst them, and their words of reassurance were predictable at best.

Edgar's obvious agitation. "Terra, whatever…whatever you decide, we're behind you."

Locke's mechanical promise. "You know I'll protect you no matter what."

Sabin's forced cheer. "Maybe we really can do some good working together."

Cyan's blatant distaste. "A deal with the devil…even made with pure intention, we may yet walk a wicked path."

Not one of them could meet her eye. Perhaps it was out of dread. Perhaps it was out of shame. Whatever the reason, the pang of alienation was all too familiar to the half-breed, and she strayed from their company. She tried to drift aimlessly through the palace but, while her mind had only a shadowy recollection of its layout, her feet seemed to act on muscle memory, and Terra soon found herself in a small dimly-lit room. Her head immediately throbbed, and her stomach tightened.

A single shackle-adorned chair stood bolted to the floor in front of her, a thick layer of dust settled on the cold metal.

She swallowed thickly, tentatively reaching out and gliding her fingers over the armrest. In the back of her mind, she heard a ghostly cackle reverberate through the room. Her heart pounded, and her breaths quickened as the sharp edge of panic seized her. Letting her hand fall away form the chair, she backed out of the room on shaky legs and leaned heavily against the wall until her vision stopped swimming.

It was several minutes before her nausea subsided and her breathing calmed.

Retracing her steps, Terra made her way back to the Guest Wing where, by this time, her companions had scattered. She nervously approached one of the sentries on duty at the corridor's head.

"Um…excuse me…"

The helmeted man in brown turned his head but did not relax his stance. "Yes?"

"I-I was wondering where I could find Celes."

"I believe General Chere is over in Alpha Lab." With a hand signal to his colleague, the sentry broke posture to stride down the passage. "Follow me."

Terra trailed along behind the soldier as they wove their way through the palace, eventually passing back through the fortress to the industrial buildings beyond. They entered a new building into what looked to be a lobby of sorts, the walls and ceiling made up of large square tiles of pristine white fiberglass. The floor was the same sheet iron found in the rest of the fortress. From what she could tell, the main entrances to the labs were located behind the security checkpoint stationed in the center of the atrium.

They approached the large desk, which was manned by two men in uniform and flanked by glass partitions barring passage into the rest of the building. Terra also noticed a series of squat mechanical sentries recessed into the side walls: a preview of the lab's automated security force.

"Miss Branford is requesting to see General Chere," her escort announced. The sentry then turned to Terra. "They'll direct you the rest of the way."

She thanked him quietly. As the sentry left, she was prompted to sign the electronic signature pad. She was then handed a visitor's badge.

"This will grant you access only to Alpha Lab, none of the other facilities," one of the guards explained. "Just follow the signs down to Medical."

A glass panel on the 'entrance' side of the checkpoint slid open, and Terra nervously stepped through, treading lightly down to the end of the white corridor. Directly ahead of her was a standard pressure-locked door with a keycard console just to its left. The metal sign mounted on the wall above the security panel read '**Alpha Lab: Ground Level.**' Down the hall to her left, she saw an elevator with the same keycard box, its sign reading, '**Beta Lab: Second Level. Delta Lab: Third Level.**' Next, she looked to her right, where the floor plan opened to a circular space. A second security checkpoint was posted, and beyond it a reinforced steel door marked with bold red letters '**Omega Lab: Subterranean Level. Restricted.**'

For an unknown reason, a chill ran through her.

Swiping her badge through the console for Alpha Lab, Terra passed through the unlocked door and navigated the maze of white hallways. There were signs for Observation, Radiology, Neurology, Psychiatry, and a number of others where the arrows all led off in different directions. Each had the archaic symbol for 'Alpha' following the name. After a dizzying route, she passed through a final plain white door labeled 'Medical Alpha,' where she was met with the sight of technician lab stations surrounded by private exam rooms. A few soldiers were seated in the waiting area, and a couple more were with a technician having vaccinations and blood draws. She immediately felt the eyes of the doctors and technicians on her, and she couldn't help but feel like one of their specimens in a glass jar. The man behind the reception counter stared at her expectantly.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"I-I was looking for—"

"Terra!"

Startled, she looked towards the voice and saw a middle-aged man with graying red hair and a neatly-trimmed beard approaching her. Matching the vividness of his flaming hair was the thick yellow hazard coat he wore. A clipboard with a medical record was in his hand.

"What brings you down here, my dear?"

Though the man seemed familiar to her, Terra faltered. "I'm…sorry, I don't—"

"Cid del Norte Marquez," he introduced kindly. "Head of Vector's Science and Technology Division."

"Oh…"

If Cid was fazed by her lack of recognition, he didn't show it. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I was looking for Ce…er, General Chere," she amended.

"Oh, you just missed her. I sent her upstairs already."

Terra couldn't help the slump in her shoulders. "Upstairs?"

"To Neurology Beta. Complete physical and mental health examinations are required for all military personnel prior to extended expedition," he explained. "The process is a little more involved for our Magitek Knights." See the discouraged look on Terra's face, Cid continued. "I was just about to head up there myself, if you wanted to see her. This shouldn't take long."

Uncertainty plagued her. The professor seemed kind enough, and she couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity; the same sort of safe familiarity she felt with Celes and even General Cristophe.

With only a nod to answer him, Cid gestured for Terra to follow. They entered an elevator at the back of the lab marked '**Authorized Personnel Only**,' and she listened quietly as the scientist chatted amicably about Vector's lab facilities.

"You see, Terra, Alpha is our general health department whereas Beta is specially equipped with Magitechnology for our enhanced soldiers. Delta is our research and development lab."

"What's Omega?"

The question caught the professor off guard, and he worded his answer carefully. "Omega is…our special projects division."

Terra recalled her comrades mentioning something called Devil's Lab shortly after they left Zozo. She briefly wondered if it and Omega were one in the same.

Stepping out of the elevator, Cid pressed onward. "Now, while my main purpose is to oversee the four branches and deliver focused management of our Magitek research division, I do maintain a personal responsibility for a select number of individuals."

Terra hesitated before she asked the question burning in her mind. "…was I one of them?"

"…yes," he confirmed gently. "Yes, you were."

When they arrived at Neurology Beta, Celes and Cid's top aide were the only two occupants. The general, shirtless except for her bra, was already hooked up more lab equipment than Terra could name. The sight made her queasy.

In front of the general was an energy containment field. As Terra watched, the air particles within turned to tiny diamonds, drawn towards and coalescing into a growing sphere of ice in the very center of the field.

Cid quietly explained that the net of sensors covering Celes' head was called an electroencephalograph, analyzing brain activity while she concentrated her mystical energies. The leads on her chest connected to the electrocardiograph as it monitored heart rhythms and respiratory rate. Small probes along her spine and on her fingers read both central and peripheral nerve response. The cuff on her wrist monitored blood pressure.

He further explained that enduring control would give more accurate diagnostic results than acute bursts of power. Though Celes' expression was calm, Terra's own experience with magic told her the general was beginning to drain from the prolonged exercise.

After nearly ten minutes, Cid was satisfied. "That's enough, Celes, thank you."

As the technician disconnected all the equipment, the professor handed the general a small vial of pinkish liquid. Without question, the blonde uncapped the vial and drank its contents. The subtle trembling in her hands subsided soon after.

"What can I do for you, Terra?" Celes asked once she was free of the sensors.

"I was hoping I could talk to you."

Celes glanced to Cid. "Are we done here, Professor?"

"I'll compare these results to your last exam more thoroughly tonight, but assuming your blood chemistries and titers come back normal, you're cleared for departure. Terra," he added, "it's good to see you are well."

With that, Cid retreated into his private office with his patient's updated medical record. Celes paid the technician no further notice as she pulled her tunic over her head. As she slipped her jerkin on and fastened it closed, the general inclined her head at Terra in invitation.

"I guess I'm a little lost," the girl began timidly.

"I'm not sure I'm the person to guide you."

"I don't know who else to go to. I tried talking to the others. I know they're not trying to push one way or the other, but I get the feeling they want to be far away from here. Like they think I'm crazy for having to think about this. But it's not that easy, is it? There are too many what ifs."

Celes shrugged. "You've grown up, Terra. The world is not as black and white as they would have you believe, and there comes a time when everyone has to decide just what shade of gray they're going to live in."

"I want to help set things right, and I think making peace with the Espers is the only way to do that, but what if I'm wrong? What if trying to talk to them is only going to make things worse, like it did last time? What if they don't listen? Or what if they _do_ listen, just not when I'm alongside…"

"The same people who enslaved you both?"

Terra nodded despondently. She reached into her satchel and pulled an object out. Celes recognized the aquamarine gem encased by living ice immediately.

"What if all anyone really wants is power?" the girl whispered. When the general didn't offer comfort, Terra held the stone out to her. "She won't respond to anyone else. She said she served no human but one. I assumed she meant you."

Celes eyed the magicite guardedly. "Not everyone craves power, Terra."

The girl met her with a surprisingly even gaze. "I know." With her free hand, she touched the topaz-encircled garnet hanging from her neck. "I keep him with me because he's a part of me. It's one of the few things I'm sure of in this world."

Wordlessly, Celes accepted the magicite, the feel of it cold even to her icy hand.

_I know you…_

With the Esper's echo in her mind, Celes missed what Terra said next. She slipped the stone into her pocket. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Gestahl said Kefka was being detained," the girl repeated.

"And?"

"I want to see him."

There was no immediate answer, and Terra felt Celes' gaze on her, a strange searching look creasing stone features. Finally, the general turned towards the door.

"…this way."

They exited the lab building and reentered the fortress, journeying into the detention wing in silence. They passed through a series of security checkpoints, where Celes' clearance granted immediate access. When they reached the final checkpoint, Terra was expecting her companion to question her certainty, but it never came. The door slid open, and the general led the way inside.

Half the cells on the first and second blocks were occupied. Terra tried not to notice the stares and catcalls of the stirring inmates as she was ushered along, her nerves teetering more on edge with every step she took. Celes seemed oblivious to it as she led her charge around a corner and into the third cell block.

This one was quieter. Here, the cells were not visible through open bars but rather hidden behind thick iron doors and solid walls. Only a small glass panel on the door allowed a glimpse inside. If Terra was right, this was the isolation block.

Celes continued on to the very last cell at the head of the corridor. The door and adjacent walls were transparent to allow full, unobstructed view of the prisoner within. The guards posted outside looked weary at best, one rubbing his temples. As the two women drew near, both sentries snapped a salute.

"General."

"I'm afraid he's in a mood," the second guard explained. "He's been raving nonstop for seventy-two hours. Hasn't slept a minute."

Celes glanced into the cell, where Kefka was ramming the posts of his upturned cot into the iron wall, ranting incoherently.

"A moment," was all she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

The sentries took their leave, and Terra stepped closer to the cell and peered inside. The imprisoned general was a mess. His robes were dirty and torn, his makeup smeared, his voice hoarse, and his eyes feverishly bright.

"Can he see us?"

Celes shook her head. "Two-way glass. We can see in, but he can't see out."

Kefka abruptly paused his rant and cocked his head towards the door. "Who's out there?" Abandoning the cot, he pressed himself against the glass as though it would grant him sight beyond. "_Who's out there?_ Is that you, Celes? I know you're there. Answer me!"

The blonde ignored him and mutely focused on her companion.

Terra watched the man with a puzzled expression. "It's different than I thought it'd be."

"Terra?" Kefka called. "Terra! Can you believe they put me in a place like this? I mean, the nerve of some people! You'd think I'd _at least_ be allowed the luxury of my personal suite, but no! They're forcing me to sit in this dingy little cell and eat scraps off the floor like a filthy mongrel! I can't even urinate in private! It's like I'm an animal! A caged animal! How is that humane? Ethical treatment? Kind bordering on generous? I think not! Not from these savages!"

"The irony of that sentiment is astronomical," Celes mumbled. "Be thankful no one has slipped poison into your water yet."

"Is that a threat? _Is that a threat?_" he screeched.

"What were you expecting?" the blonde asked Terra.

"I'm not sure."

"Just imagine the sheer humiliation of it all!" Kefka continued. "To be on display like some freak, people gawking in at you at all hours, pointing and whispering. Fed barely enough to keep a man alive. Only the rats to keep me company. Nothing to do but to sit quietly and twiddle my thumbs. Well, I'll tell you, once I get out of here, there's going to be hell to pay! I just can't believe it!" Finally Kefka settled down, turning his cot upright. He perched on its edge like a bird and gave a heavy sigh. "What a bore."

Terra let out a breath. Looking in on him, confined to his cell of metal and glass, her head began to swim. The corridor stretched infinitely behind her, but the walls began to close in on either side of her, ready to crush her, trap her, forge an endless prison she could never break free of.

She ran.

She heard Celes call her name, but she didn't stop. Her flight was a blur, walls and doors and faces rushing past her until she was too out of breath to go on. When her vision cleared, she found herself on a large terrace overlooking the Imperial Fortress Square below.

She gasped.

The grounds from the fortress gates to the city limits were packed with soldiers in brown standing shoulder to shoulder. The podium next to her was manned by a robed figure, and Terra winced at the shock of pain shooting tendrils through her mind.

An impassioned voice boomed out over the fortress grounds.

Three others united into a single declaration, their fists raised.

The echoing roar of thousands of soldiers cheered on.

The sensation of hot metal seared across her forehead.

Her own mouth worked to join the mass' cry.

Terra shook herself, and when she looked again, the podium was vacant, and the grounds were empty save for the usual Magitek Armor sentries. Her breathing slowed to a steady pant as the memory faded.

The minutes ticked by as she stood on the terrace, still as a statue as though the world would shatter if she moved. She felt no surprise when a cool presence came up beside her.

"It's strange…isn't it?" the blonde pondered quietly. "Being here again…"

"I remember….fragments. Pieces here and there. All of it blurry, like I'm watching through the bottom of a glass. But the fear, it's….sharp. Clear. How can I fear a place I don't remember?"

Celes didn't respond at first. "…can I ask why you wanted to see Kefka?"

"I guess I was hoping it would give me some sort of…closure. An answer."

"And did it?"

Terra shook her head. "…I don't know what to do."

"I can't tell you. No one can. Not Locke or Edgar, not Leo or Gestahl. You can't worry about what's right for them: the Empire, the Returners, it doesn't matter. You have to do what's right for_ you_: _your_ beliefs, _your_ conscience."

"And how do I know what's right?"

Celes was reminded of the ice Esper's words shortly before her death. "How many of us really know what 'right' is? There's no overarching force of Good versus Evil, Terra. There's only perspective. 'Right' is a point of view. That's all."

"Shades of gray…" the girl echoed. "Could you do it? Could you get through to them?"

"The truth?"

"Please."

"…no, I don't think I could. Leo was right. I'm an instrument of war, while you were born in a union of peace. Who do you think they're more likely to listen to?"

Terra didn't answer.

The general waited a few minutes before speaking again. "We set sail from Albrook the day after tomorrow if you decide to join us." The green-haired mage could only nod distantly, and Celes chose to take her leave. "Goodnight, Terra."

* * *

Upon entering her suite, Celes was greeted first by Khione, then by the less inviting collection of requisitions, inventory reports, and personnel rosters that required her attention before shipping out. Sitting down at her desk, she considered assigning one of her staff sergeants to the task, but she quickly dismissed the idea.

Well after dusk had submitted to inky night, a hesitant knock on her door pulled Celes out of her work zone.

"Yes?"

When the door opened, she looked up from her report, finding Locke slipping quietly into her office. A rare flicker of surprise crossed her face, the sentiment carrying into her voice.

"What are you doing here?"

With the same soundless movements, the thief closed the door behind him. "I want to talk to you."

Celes quickly recovered from her shock, her usual indifference reemerging as she returned her attention to her paperwork. "The Officer's Wing is restricted. You shouldn't be wandering these halls without an escort."

Locke shrugged as he entered deeper into her workspace. "Security was lax."

As though on cue, a menacing growl came from the far side of the general's desk. Locke stopped cold, blanching at the sight of the large wolf staring him down, hackles raised and teeth bared. Celes again lifted her gaze to the thief but said nothing. Only when he began to tremble did she snap her fingers to get her familiar's attention, giving a low command.

"_Nein._" When the hybrid looked to her master, Celes nodded her head towards the bedroom doorway._ "Geh rein._"

Obediently, Khione withdrew into the adjoining bedroom. She jumped up onto the foot of the bed and laid down with her nose towards the open doorway, keeping wary vigilance on her master's visitor. Likewise, Locke's eyes continued to dart back to the canine as though expecting her to attack at any moment.

He chuckled nervously. "You know, I pegged you as more of a cat kind of person."

Standing from her plush leather chair, Celes rounded the corner of her desk and made towards the door. "You shouldn't be here. Get out."

Locke caught her arm before she could pass. "I need to know something."

The general eyed the invading hand but refrained from removing it. "_What_?"

"Did you betray us?"

"I was honest with you from the beginning," she reminded. "I did everything I said I would and managed to keep you alive while doing it. Maybe what you _should've_ come here to say is 'thank you.'"

"Then why the charade?" Locke pressed.

"What charade? I told you weeks ago I wanted to come home. That never changed."

"So you're just going to keep serving the Empire like nothing ever happened." It was no longer a question.

"…I am the Empire…" she said quietly but determinedly.

"You're a pawn. You're a slave with a rank, Celes. That's all you are."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Locke braced for the lashing he was sure he would receive. None came. Instead, he saw something shift behind Celes' eyes before she dropped them from his.

"…get out of my sight."

Her tone was still quiet, but determination had faded to something entirely different. It was the smallest of cracks in her icy armor, and the thief knew it wouldn't be long before it mended. Carefully, he lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

"Tell me we can trust you in this."

For a single instant, Celes looked as though she was going to answer. A sharp rapping on the door cut through the silence and, as Locke feared, the general's eyes hardened again. Prying herself away from his hand, she made her way to the door and opened it, met by a sergeant and four sentries.

"Is everything all right, General?"

"If you would please escort Mister Cole back to guest quarters."

"Yes, ma'am."

She felt Locke's gaze on her as he let himself be led out of her office, but she ignored him. The door closed, and she locked it with a swipe of her security card. Glancing around her now empty suite, she shut her eyes and let out a breath. In the adjoining room, Khione whined, head perked up as she watched her master.

"What are you looking at?" Celes mumbled.

The wolf whined a second time before shifting lazily onto her side. The general slowly returned to her desk and leaned back in her chair. As an afterthought, she withdrew the magicite out of her pocket and studied its frozen facets. Not finding what she was looking for, she set the stone on top of her remaining paperwork. Both stared in persistent bid for her attention.

Celes stared right back.

* * *

The sun was just beginning to rise over the mountains as Terra neared the last buildings of Vector's outer rim. When she had passed just beyond the city's limits, she spared a final glance over her shoulder to the Imperial Citadel looming behind her. Then, setting her gaze forward to the Vectoran plains, she took a deep breath.

"Forget something?"

She jumped at the sudden voice by her ear. "Locke!" She turned to see the thief standing casually next to her. "You scared me."

"Sorry." He gestured to the green expanse before them. "Were you planning to cross on foot?"

"I guess I hadn't really thought about it." Terra watched as he adjusted his jacket and checked the dirks at his hip. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like? You didn't think I was going to let you do something this crazy alone, did you?"

"I didn't think you agreed with this."

"Doesn't mean I won't help you."

"Locke…"

"Hey, we'll never know unless we try, right? Ed and the others are going to stay here to keep an eye on things. That leaves you and me with the generals."

"You don't trust them."

Locke averted his eyes. "No, I don't." After another moment, he met her gaze. "Which is exactly why I'm going with you."

He gave a short whistle, and a stable hand came ambling down the street with the reigns of two armored chocobos in his grasp. With a look from Terra, Locke shrugged.

"Unless you really _want_ to walk…"

Safely saddled on their Imperial mounts, the journey from Vector to Albrook took them through the morning and late into the afternoon. The moment they passed through the city gates, two men in brown uniforms stepped forward and steadied their chocobos, offering each a hand as they dismounted. Once firmly on the ground, the two were greeted by the salute of an officer in green.

"Miss Branford, Mister Cole, welcome to Albrook. If you'll follow me, General Cristophe is expecting you."

Terra smiled somewhat uncertainly. "Thank you."

Though seated in a province separate from Vector, Albrook was a favored sister of Gestahl's empire. The city cascaded from land to sea in three tiers of architectural magnificence. The uppermost tier held the wealthy residencies, houses of stone and brick that overlooked the sparkling bay.

The inner core and beating heart of the city was Port Royale, its impressive harbor acting as a gateway to the Imperial Continent itself. The docks extended for a mile in either direction, where countless cargo freighters, passenger ships, military cruisers, and private yachts could be seen in port. Numerous others vessels were anchored offshore. Street vendors and traveling merchants peddled their wares right at the water's edge, and the seafood market was in its prime, overflowing with fresh selections.

Connecting the inner core and outer rim was the commercial district of the second tier. Here, one could find the long-established businesses that fueled the city: the armories and antique dealers; the hotels and apartment complexes; the restaurants and cafés; the schools and hospitals; the banks and trade distributors that processed all of Albrook's imports and exports.

There were people everywhere. Patrons went into their favorite shops with empty hands and left with empty purses, while their window-shopping counterparts catalogued their wish lists. Families roamed the streets in search of an afternoon adventure. Friendly neighbors stopped to chat with each other about the latest news, weather, or the tides. Imperial sentries patrolled every avenue, mingling almost naturally with the bustle of everyday life.

When Terra and Locke reached the port, they passed by a half dozen Imperial battleships before arriving at their apparent destination.

"General Cristophe," their escort called.

Leo turned and, upon seeing the two Returners, clicked his heels together for a shallow bow. "Lady Terra, my heart warms to see you have decided to join us."

"Bet you say that to all the pretty magic users," Locke muttered.

"And a warm welcome to you as well, Mister Cole," the general added evenly.

"So do you think there'll be enough docking space on Crescent Island for the _entire_ armada?" the thief wondered idly.

Leo chuckled. "We will just be taking the_ Gauntlet_. I would offer you a tour of the city, but unfortunately Lady Celes and I still have many preparations to make before morning."

Terra caught sight of the female general in question on the _Gauntlet_, checking the inventory of cargo being loaded. When Terra waved in greeting, Celes looked up from her clipboard just long enough to nod in acknowledgment. Locke shifted uncomfortably.

"I took the liberty of booking rooms for you at the Harbor Inn," Leo told them. "We leave tomorrow at dawn. The rest of the day is yours. If you are hungry, I recommend the Dragonstone Café."

With another bow, Leo switched his focus back to the task at hand. Terra made to leave but noticed her companion was staring at the warship.

"Locke?"

"Yeah?"

"I am kind of hungry."

He broke from his haze and looked at her, though his attention seemed divided. "Right. Dragonstone." He nodded absently. "I was listening."

Terra took his arm. "Come on. She'll still be there in the morning."

Locke had a feeling Terra wasn't referring to the ship.

* * *

Celes laid awake that night, waiting for a nameless weight to lift from her mind. The previous day at the capital had left her feeling strange. Restless. Her hands quivered at her sides. Her heart beat heavily in her chest. She shifted and turned, unable to stay comfortable for more than a few minutes.

Sitting up on the edge of her bed, she ran a hand over her head. Khione stirred from slumber and watched her master questioningly.

The room was shrouded in darkness save for the moonlight streaming in through the windowpanes. A gentle breeze was coming in through the open glass, rustling the curtains and casting dancing shadows onto the opposite wall. The wind was inviting, the smell of fresh night air pulling at her.

Standing up, she threw a quick glance over to where her sword and jerkin lay. Deciding to forgo them, she left the room, holding the door open only long enough for her furred companion to follow. Exiting the inn, she stepped over to the stone railing of the bridge overlooking one of the city's water canals. She drew a deep breath and looked to the sky. The near-full moon was large and bright, a shimmery reflection rippling on the water below.

She closed her eyes.

She hadn't heard him come out of the inn, but she felt him behind her, watching her. She stood completely still as he moved noiselessly up beside her. His silence was unsettling her more than she already was. He came closer still until she could feel his breath. A trembling hand, grown bold under the cover of night, brushed against her cheek to cup her face. His thumb traced lightly over her bottom lip, turning her chin towards him. Before she could protest, a warm mouth replaced that thumb.

The door of the inn opened behind her, and Khione gave a low growl. Eyes flying open, Celes snapped out of her daydream with a sharp intake of breath. She didn't remember drifting into such a fantasy, and the hot flush of shame and self-reproach tinged her cheeks. As quickly as the heat had come, though, the cold chill returned with a vengeance, driving the blush away. The wolf's growl turned to a whine when the moon's light revealed the form to be Leo.

"Lady Celes? I did not expect you awake at this hour." When she didn't respond, Leo stepped closer. "Can you not sleep?" When he was met with further silence, "What's wrong?"

"Terra," Celes found herself saying.

"Is she all right?"

"She's asking questions I thought I knew the answers to." She shook her head. "It's different. Nothing is black and white anymore."

"Everyone has doubts, Lady Celes."

"People of our rank can't afford to have doubts," she countered. "What do you think the difference is between me and Terra?"

Leo let out a breath, resting his elbows on the bridge rail to stare out across the water as his counterpart was. "Terra was innocent."

"And me?"

The elder general hesitated before responding. "…while you were in confinement, Professor Marquez told me the story of how you were created. Most of it I already knew, but he told me that right after you were born and given your first infusion, he turned to his aide and said, 'Now we're all sons of bitches.'" Leo paused as he studied Celes' profile, then looked back to the water. "He told me that what he did to you was ten times worse than what was done to Terra. She has the luxury of knowing her sins were not of her choice. You were trained to _make_ them your choice."

Celes let out a short, bitter laugh. "A slave with a rank…"

"And I am no better," Leo admitted softly. "I knew what was happening, and I did nothing to stop it. Some days I wish I could give it up. That this war and bloodshed would end, and there would be no more need for generals and their armies. But I have to believe this is all worth something, that this is leading me somewhere. I have to believe I can make a difference in this world if I just hold on a little bit longer."

"A fool's hope."

"Sometimes hope is the only thing we have left."

"Is it enough?"

Leo just smiled a sad smile and touched a hand to her shoulder. "Try to get some sleep, Lady Celes. We have a long road ahead of us."

While Leo returned to the inn, Celes remained where she was, though the ocean provided no solace.

She hung her head, not seeing the thief watching from the shadows.

* * *

_Author's Notes: The German commands are 'no' and 'go inside' respectively. "Now we're all sons of bitches" was the remark Bainbridge made to Oppenheimer after the first atomic bomb was detonated._


	6. Mystic Mist

**Part VI: Mystic Mist**

_I know you…_

Celes stirred at the familiar whisper. She opened her eyes only to find her surroundings a black canvas. Curiously, she could clearly see her hands in front of her; the only break in the otherwise inky ocean. The air was still, no sound giving hint of where she was.

She didn't call out. She knew there wouldn't be an answer even if she did. Instead, she started walking. Her footfalls were noiseless, and even her clothes were absent the normal rustle of fabric. The natural laws of time and space didn't seem to matter. Having encountered no landmark or even the slightest change in the darkness, she gave up her trek.

A feather-light touch brushed across the back of her neck. The moment she turned around to locate the source, she came face to face with a translucent barrier. It stretched in either direction down to a pinprick in the distance and seemed to extend upwards without end. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was made of solid ice, and somewhere deep within was a turquoise luminescence.

Celes tensed when she caught sight of movement. Several paces behind the barrier was the silhouette of a humanoid female. Though her finer features were blurred beyond recognition by the frozen partition, her skin and hair were memorable shades of blue. It was then she understood the ice wasn't just a wall; it was a prison.

"I'm asleep," Celes stated.

"And I am awake," the Esper responded.

"Why did you call me here?"

"How are you so certain _you_ did not call _me_?"

Celes shook her head. "You shouldn't be here."

"I have chosen to obey the will of my master."

"As I've chosen to obey the will of mine," Celes reminded tightly.

The Esper began wandering slowly along the length of the wall. "You chose to obey him, yet you know his intention. You chose to come this far, yet you know what will happen. He will take them. He will take them, and the war will never end."

"You can leave."

The Esper paused and gave a pointed glance to her icy prison. "It would seem not."

"You shouldn't have to be a part of this," Celes insisted. "I hold you to nothing."

"I hold you to everything," the Esper countered. "By science and magic, by Chance and Fate, you and I are bound. I will not allow that power to be wasted."

Celes touched a hand to the ice, contemplating the frost creeping over her flesh. "And if I abuse it instead?"

"You won't. We are two halves of the same existence. I have seen your heart."

The Esper came closer to the wall, each step bringing her features into sharper definition. When she lifted a hand and placed it opposite her master's, her face was clear enough to identify. It was not the one Celes expected to see.

The face was her own.

…_and your heart is mine._

Celes awoke with a heavy intake of breath. Her room was still dark, though the first tinge of the pre-dawn gray was beginning to seep in through the curtains.

A glint of color caught the corner of her eye, and she glanced over to the shard of magicite Terra had given her. It was laying right where she had left it on top of her jerkin. The delicate silver chain Celes has fastened to it was still coiled protectively around it. One things was different.

The inner jewel was now shedding a steady turquoise light.

* * *

Leo held back a sigh.

Bound in manacles and held in place by two Imperial soldiers was a man clad head to toe in the black attire of a ninja. His eyes were only just visible behind the horned balaclava covering his face.

"We were doing our final inspection when we found him in the cargo hold," the deck officer explained.

"Was he armed?"

"Yes, sir. We confiscated numerous weapons and restrained his dog."

Leo spared a glance to the large black canine chained and muzzled nearby before exchanging a look with his fellow general.

Celes shook her head. "You're the commanding officer," she reminded quietly.

"And as such, I am delegating to you."

"What are you _delegating _to yourself?"

"Breakfast," Leo answered with the ghost of a smirk.

Ignoring the male general's wile as he stepped off the _Gauntlet_, Celes drew nearer to the imprisoned man. "I have no place for mercenaries on this ship," she stated without formality.

"And what are you if not a mercenary, except loyal to one man?"

His voice was low and slightly muffled by his mask. She couldn't tell his age, only that he was a man hardened by time and circumstance.

She chose not to answer. "What is it you want?"

"Passage."

"To?"

"Anywhere but here."

"How do you know where we're going is any better?"

"I'll take my chances."

"And why should I allow you passage on an Imperial vessel?"

"I offer my services in return, for as long as I deem them useful to you."

Celes couldn't help but laugh. "You expect me to stake my reputation—and by extension, that of the Empire—on the whims of a mercenary?"

The man met her with a silent stare.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"A shadow does not carry a name."

Eighteen years of military service couldn't temper the urge to roll her eyes. "Shadow, it is." She turned her attention to the canine accompanying him. "And your friend?"

"He bites."

"Of course he does."

A head taller than Khione and easily coming up to Celes' hip, "dog" seemed too inaccurate a term. The animal was impeccably lean with powerful muscles coiled beneath a bristling coat. With his fur sleek and black as night, only the rust-colored markings on his legs and chest distinguished him from the shadow he served. Brown eyes shone with fierce intelligence. His cropped ears laid flat against his head as he thrashed against his captors.

Celes looked to the two soldiers holding the animal in a cross chain and waved them back. Only after notable hesitation did the Imperials step away. Meanwhile, the mercenary gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. The canine remained tense, his flashing eyes fixed on the general as she crouched down in front of him. Khione was hovering nearby, a warning growl low in her throat. With smooth movements, Celes removed the chains from around the animal's neck, then slid the muzzle off.

Teeth were bared with a fearsome snarl, but Celes simply stood and walked calmly back towards the mercenary. A snap of her fingers called Khione to her side, and an offhand gesture prompted the guards to release their captive. Only then did the black canine grow quiet, sitting down to watch the general and his master with alert ears.

"You could have let your dog attack my men."

"I could have killed them _myself_, but it wouldn't have made the best impression."

Celes' lips curled up ever so slightly. She studied him for another moment, then nodded once. "Very well. So long as you make yourself useful, you have your passage."

Satisfied, the general turned to converse with the deck officer.

"Are you going to tell me where your vessel is headed?" Shadow called.

"Crescent Island."

Celes didn't see the ninja stiffen.

"Have a cabin prepared for our guest and see the men returned to their tasks," she ordered the officer. "We set sail on the hour."

A short while later, Locke climbed the gangplank onto the _Gauntlet_ behind Terra and Leo. He stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing the man in black. "You."

Shadow regarded him evenly. "Don't worry. I'll only slit your throats if the general pays me to."

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?"

Though unseen, Shadow's smirk rang clearly in his response. "I doubt she'd waste the coin."

Leo turned to Celes in confusion. "What is this?"

"I hired him."

"You hired the mercenary stowing away on an Imperial vessel bound for a peace mission?"

"You delegated."

"In hopes you would handle the situation."

Celes brushed by him. "Consider it handled."

As the blonde left the main deck, Leo he felt a lingering pair of eyes. The mercenary was watching him, his stare unsettling from behind his impenetrable and soulless mask.

The shipmaster stepped up and saluted. "General, all systems are go."

Abandoning the mercenary's gaze, Leo acknowledged the officer. "Take her out to sea, Captain."

"Aye, General."

Content to be underway, Leo ascended to the upper deck, coming up beside Celes and resting his hands on the railing. Terra was standing excitedly at the bow below, smile on her face and wind in her hair as she took in the sight of the Imperial vessel breaking away from port.

"How easily she forgets what we set out to do," Leo murmured.

"She hasn't forgotten. Let her have it."

He considered it for a moment, then nodded. "You seem to be in better spirits. Did you finally get some sleep last night?"

Unconsciously, Celes reached up to touch the magicite shard that was now hanging from around her neck. "Some," she echoed, running her fingers along its frozen edges.

The act didn't go unnoticed. "Is that Shiva?"

"Yes."

"I thought all the Espers were taken during the Omega Lab incident."

"Terra…" Celes searched for the right word. "…returned her."

There was a long pause. For a moment, the blonde thought her comrade might leave it at that.

Then, "…it would be best," Leo began carefully, "if no one saw you wearing that."

Celes' stomach grew heavy. Either Leo, the loyalist, feared she would be seen as a dissident, or Leo, the idealist, feared the emperor's power lust wasn't truly abated. Less likely, it could simply be Leo, the moralist, worrying the Espers would take offense. Whichever the case, she felt invisible shackles tighten their hold.

"I know."

Their course would take them around the southern tip of the Imperial Continent, turning northeast to sail along the shores of the landmass on the continent's eastern edge. From there, they would continue northeast out into the open seas towards Crescent Island.

Hours later, Terra stared thoughtfully at the mountains on that isle as they passed by. Deep within those fiery peaks lay the Path of the Gods and, beyond it, the Sealed Gate. It was there, a small number of days before, that she had first appealed to the Espers. She wondered where she would be now if the Returners had never approached the Gate. Would the Espers have remained hidden away? Would she ever have ended up on an Imperial ship acting on behalf of an anti-Imperial faction?

Will she ever have the chance to see the place where she was born?

"Locke, what do you think will happen?"

The thief, leaning against the tower to the crow's nest, opened his eyes. "When?"

"When we find them. I already failed once. What happens if I fail again?"

Locke craned his neck, glancing at the upper deck where the two generals were conversing. "I guess that's up to them."

* * *

Their journey had been going smoothly. The weather was clear, and the _Gauntlet's_ systems were performing perfectly. It was during lunch the third day that Captain Tayne came down into the galley and approached Leo, apprehension written across his face.

"General?" he beckoned softly. "You might want to come see this."

Abandoning his meal, Leo followed the shipmaster to the main deck, immediately discerning the problem. Directly ahead of them was a dense wall of white fog, extending as far as the eye could see both east and west.

"I thought it would dissipate as the sun rose," Tayne told him. "General, I've never seen mist this thick. It's unnatural."

"Course heading?"

"Directly into it, sir."

Leo rubbed his chin. "It could take days to go around."

"There is no going around," Celes declared, appearing at his elbow.

Captain Tayne shifted uneasily. "Ma'am?"

She stared into the opaque whiteness. It was there. Like the gem at the core of a magicite crystal, Crescent Island was nestled deep within the mist. Its presence pulsed like a beacon in her mind, little more than a speck in the distance just beginning to crest the horizon. With every passing minute, however, that pulse grew stronger and brighter.

"Keep a steady course."

It took a confirming nod from Leo for Tayne to snap a salute. "Aye, General. Steady course."

The crew grew quiet when the curtain of mist closed in around the _Gauntlet_, as though they were passing through the veil of death itself. Within the mist, the world became eerily still. The ocean was unusually calm, no wisp of wind to churn even the smallest of waves. No cry of seagulls could be heard overhead. Only the constant rumble of engines and creaking of floorboards punctuated the otherwise hushed atmosphere.

Tayne soon reported that all of their system gauges were spiking while the compass needles were swinging erratically. Celes urged them on, adjusting their course heading degree by degree in tandem with the steady pull of their destination.

For days, they continued forward. The moisture clung to them, dampening their clothes as well as their spirits. Many were reluctant to speak for fear of disturbing some unseen evil. Even the dogs seemed agitated as they paced below deck. More than once, Celes found herself wondering if she was wrong, if she was only chasing phantoms in the dark and leading everyone to their deaths.

In a private moment away from prying ears, the general confided in Terra her doubt. Relief came when the half Esper admitted she, too, had a sense of something looming in the distance, though she didn't know what. The mage's affirmation did not, however, alleviate Celes' fear of the potential dangers their route posed. With the mist a suffocating blanket, the lane ahead couldn't be monitored for obstacles of rock formations or shallow reefs. Likewise, if her bearings were off even a single degree, they could sail right by the island and never see it.

These were the thoughts running through Celes' mind when a knock sounded on her cabin door.

"General? Your presence has been requested on the bridge."

Acknowledging the messenger, she stood from her cot, clasped her jerkin closed, and stepped through the small portal into the cabin passage. Entering the galley, she cocked an eyebrow at the sight that awaited her. Locke was standing motionless in the very center of the compartment, eyes closed and arms held out as though for balance.

Celes wavered, trying to determine if she could make it up to the deck without him hearing her. Unbidden memories of the previous night's reverie rose to the surface of her mind, and a flush of distress threatened to follow. Angrily, she shoved them back into the shadows.

She would not allow him the satisfaction of her discomfort.

"What are you doing?"

He gestured to the floorboards under his feet. "If I stand _right here_, I don't feel the ship rock as much."

"Would you like a bucket?" she offered wryly.

"Have one." He pointed with his chin. "Over there."

She started to move past him. "Don't miss."

"Cel, do me a favor?" he requested. Eyes still closed, he didn't see her clench at the abbreviation. "Will you just…talk with me? I don't care about what, just…just for a few minutes? It helps take my mind off it."

A part of her knew she would end up regretting it. Nothing good ever came of her conversations with the thief. Nevertheless, she crossed her arms and braced for the fallout.

"Fine. You're an idiot."

That was cause enough for Locke to open his eyes. "Okay, I know I said I didn't care what we talked about, but I still have feelings."

"And an incredible intolerance of sea travel." Celes sighed. "Why are you here, Locke?"

"Terra."

"Terra," she repeated. "Terra is a pawn of war who will only end up hurt in the end, no matter how _valiantly_ you try to protect her."

"She isn't weak," Locke argued.

"No, she isn't. The problem is she doesn't remember being strong."

"What happens when she _does_ remember?" the thief asked. "How will your emperor react then?"

The general chuckled humorlessly and made for the stairway. "That would depend on which side of the firestorm he finds himself."

"Celes." She halted her steps, though she didn't turn to face him. "Maybe Terra isn't the only one who has to remember her strength."

There was a significant delay before Celes spoke. "Days ago, you asked if you could trust me."

"Can we?"

She knew the truth simply enough. It was an unadulterated fact. The complication came in wishing that truth wasn't so bitter. It was an inescapable fate.

In the end, she couldn't confess to either.

"…you're an idiot."

Not waiting for his reaction, Celes climbed the stairs and headed up to the bridge. Leo was already present in hushed conversation with Captain Tayne. The pilot and navigation technicians offered salutes, then carried on with their work.

"Gentlemen," she greeted.

"Lady Celes," Leo returned with his usual decorum. "The good captain and I were just discussing certain concerns that have arisen."

She gestured for the officer to speak. "Of course, I would like to hear them."

"General, some of the crew are getting worried, and, well, they're not alone," Tayne admitted. "We should have reached the island by now."

"Our atlas of the area is far from perfect," she reasoned. "Have patience."

"Without a working navigation system, we could be going in circles. With respect, General, we may be lost."

"Yes, we are," Celes agreed with a nod. "Is there anything else?"

The shipmaster faltered, perturbed by her apathy. "…no, ma'am."

"Good. Adjust course heading one degree northwest."

Once the pilot made the necessary correction to the wheel, Celes exited the bridge. Perplexed, Tayne looked to Leo.

"General Cristophe?"

It was several seconds before Leo answered the unspoken question. "Stay on General Chere's course."

"…aye, sir."

Leo had no difficulty finding Celes. The blonde had returned to the observation deck and was staring pensively into the mist. Wordlessly, he took up his usual post beside her.

"I think you frightened our shipmaster," he noted after a while.

"Let him be frightened. Half the crew already think I've damned them. What's one more?"

"Have you?"

"I guess we'll see."

"Indeed."

As they surveyed the main deck below and the surrounding pallor, Leo began humming to himself. It took a while for recognition to hit Celes, but when it did, she whirled on the male general with a suspicious glower.

"What is that?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing."

"Leo…" she warned.

He held up his hands beseechingly. "Be calm, Lady Celes. I am merely humming to myself. No need to break into song."

Her gaze sharpened at the mirth lacing his words. "Who told you?"

"Who told me what?"

She shook her head, unconvinced. "Another word, Cristophe, and I'll have your cock bronzed and mounted on my trophy wall."

The corner of Leo's mouth twitched. "There are more enjoyable ways to have it."

She gaped at him in disbelief. "I think the mist has driven you insane."

"I think the mist weighs on us all," he responded, now studying her carefully. "You have emasculated men for less offensive remarks. Something is distracting you."

She turned back to the ocean she couldn't see. Somehow, the mist seemed more dense than ever. "We're close."

"I pray your instincts are right, Lady Celes."

"I can feel it."

They settled back into surveillance with only the sound of the engines between them. Not one hour later, the peace was interrupted by the shouts of a deck officer. The rest of the deck crew came to attention at their stations, and all looked to the north. Terra emerged from below deck and sprinted to the bow just as the mist suddenly and inexplicably parted. The watchman's bell rang clearly from atop the crow's nest, signaling land with vigor.

There, glittering mere kilometers in the distance, was a stretch of earth matching the expected topography of Crescent Island.

The sailors broke into exclamations of relief, growing more animated than they had been in days.

"Gentlemen." Immediately ceasing their chatter, the crewmen looked to the lady general with thinly-veiled awe. "Prepare to anchor."

* * *

"That was odd."

Terra furrowed her brow as she and her two companions turned from the door that had just closed. Having located a small village called Thamasa on the northern peninsula of the island, the generals decided to set up an encampment for their Imperial entourage outside while Terra, Locke, and Shadow began inquiries with the townsfolk within.

The most recent citizen they spoke to, an elderly gentleman named Strago, had been a little too emphatic with his answers, insisting he knew nothing of Espers or magic. He had then claimed he had things to do and sent them off with a gruff farewell.

"He seemed nervous."

"Maybe it's him," Locke guessed, pointing a thumb at Shadow. "Have you ever thought about adding some color to your wardrobe? The black on black ensemble isn't very inviting."

"Neither is your assortment of pilfer pockets," the ninja retorted flatly.

"These are for travel necessities! I do _not_—" Locke cut himself short when Terra reached into his vest and pulled an antique jeweled brooch out of one of his inner pockets. "—know where that came from," he finished weakly.

"The first house we visited near the edge of town," the mage specified. "She was in the kitchen making us tea."

"Ah…" Locke shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not really a tea kind of person."

"So you stole her brooch?"

"_Liberated_," the thief corrected. "I _liberated_ her brooch from the confines of its…dusty shelf."

Terra shook her head. "Interceptor has better manners than you."

"But I'm better accessorized."

The mage swatted his arm, but the gesture only made the thief's smirk grow wider. Making their way toward the center of the village, they were soon joined by Leo and Celes. The Imperials had donned unmarked brown cloaks that wrapped around their shoulders and minimized the appearance of their field uniforms.

Leo gave a wave of greeting. "Any success?"

"Not unless you count Locke's _liberation_ of personal property," Terra said as she knelt to scratch Khione behind the ears.

When the thief found himself on the receiving end of disapproving frowns, he raised his hands. "All right, I'll bring it back!"

"Sooner rather than later," Leo stressed. "And it will not happen again on my watch."

"…if you still _have_ a watch…" Locke murmured.

"Or shall I have Shadow cut off your fingers now?"

The thief paled and shook his head. "…I think I'm good."

The mercenary grunted. "Pity."

"Then let us return to the task at hand," Leo advised.

Celes turned to him. "If you have the interrogations under control, I'd like to have a look around the area."

With no dispute from her counterpart, Celes separated from the group. Thamasa was safely huddled between two adjacent knolls: one north of the village and one west. While her first thought was to travel south, she instead decided to circle the outer limits of town and climb to the top of the northern hill, granting her a good vantage point over the rest of the isle.

Behind her and south of the village was the elbow of the island's peninsula, a narrow arm connecting to the greater landmass. A stretch of flat plains lined the eastern coast, while a lush forest covered much of the western expanse. Directly across the gulf from where she stood were two mountain chains and a sloping valley between them. Ahead of her were the high crags of the peninsula, where white-capped waves crashed against the rocks below. The perpetual mantle of mist—however diluted—gleamed with swirling iridescent color, ever shifting under the rays of sunlight. Due north and miles out into the ocean, Celes could make out the hazy outline of a jagged spire of rock jutting out from the water's surface.

Just to the east was a lightly wooded patch of land, almost out of place atop the sheer cliffs and looking as though it was slightly sunken into the earth. Deciding it was worthwhile to explore, Celes made her way down the knoll to the tree line. Shortly after entering the woods, Khione flushed a rabbit out of its hiding place and let out an imploring whine.

Celes sighed with an absent gesture. "Fine. Go."

Khione instantly chased off after the rabbit, crashing through the brush and disappearing into the trees. Celes continued on her way, soon discovering that the woods encompassed a shallow rocky ravine. A modest layer of fog had settled into the small depression, and the persistent moisture had turned the rocks and boulders green with moss. Sparse clumps of flowers, mushrooms, and shrubs cropped up from damp crevices, and small shelled cephalopods could be seen skulking across the stone. The seemingly aquatic creatures caused Celes to wonder if the ravine had once been a body of water.

The sound of claws scraping against rock drew Celes' attention, and she turned in time to see a sizeable animal dismounting a rock ledge above her. She instinctively leapt back just as it landed within striking range.

The beast was as tall as she was. A pair of brutal horns—easily a meter in length—extended back from the base of its skull. A scraggly mane covered much of its neck, chest, and back. Red eyes glowed from behind a bearded muzzle that was twisted into a sneer. At first glance, she thought it was a grossly deformed goat.

Then, it unfurled its wings.

The creature shifted its head, and suddenly Celes was looking into the snarling visage of a lion. A new set of red eyes bore into her own while razor-sharp teeth dripped with saliva. It charged forward a couple paces, challenging Celes with an earth-trembling roar. The general put an extra few meters of distance between them, realizing that while its front legs and torso resembled those of a large feline predator, its hind legs sported vicious avian talons. A closer look at the powerful tail revealed it to be three meters of writhing serpent.

For a moment, all Celes could do was stare. This was a creature of ancient times, its existence driven into myth over the course of a thousand years.

A Chimera.

Then the lion lowered its head, bringing the goat back to eye level. Rearing back with an monstrous screech, it stomped its paws into the earth. Shockwaves of terrestrial upheavals knocked the knight off balance. Before she could fully regain her footing, the serpent lashed forward and spat out forks of lightning. It was reflex alone that drew the Rune Blade from its sheath, and Celes braced against the onslaught.

Even as the final wisps of electrical energy were suctioned into the weapon, the lion resurfaced and breathed out a quartet of fireballs. The impacts against the Rune Blade caused the knight's arms to rattle.

"Hey!" a young voice called.

Risking a glance towards the source, Celes found a young blonde-haired girl standing nearby, a pad of paper and charcoal pencil tucked under her arm. The general's shout for the child to get back was drowned out by the rushing air of a whirlwind created by the Chimera's beating wings. Another arc of lightning shot towards her, and the ground shook with another earthquake.

Celes cursed under her labored breath. The beast was keeping her pinned on the defensive, churning out its exchange of elements too quickly for her to counterattack. Her control of the Rune Blade was shielding her for the moment, but the pressure of absorbed magic was mounting to dangerous levels.

Her boots skidded across the gravelly dirt as another blast of wind collided with her sword. Her nerves lit into a frenzy, and her mind screamed with need to release the stored energy. Flames enveloped the Rune Blade yet again, and she saw red.

Suddenly, a second Chimera leapt into view from the direction of where the young girl stood. With the lion's head at the forefront, it attacked the first Chimera with tooth and claw, ripping into its rival with savage might.

Free of her Runic concentration, Celes gathered the energy she had absorbed and unleashed it back into the open. Arctic winds encompassed the two Chimeras, and the mossy rock grew white with frost. The air turned thick with magic and abruptly coalesced into a massive formation of ice spikes as large as the beasts themselves. The first Chimera shrieked as the ice lanced up through its vulnerable underside, then collapsed lifelessly to the ground as the magic shattered and dissipated.

The child tore a sheet of paper in two, and the second Chimera vanished.

Celes dropped to one knee, her head in agony and vision swimming. Fresh blood flowed from her nose.

"Are you okay?" the child asked, hovering beside her.

The knight struggled to orient herself. She sensed a vast amount of energy still brimming inside her, along with the internal damage its burn had caused. Closing her eyes, Celes mouthed a brief incantation. A new wind swept around her, this one of gentle green light. Her nosebleed slowed, and the pain began to recede.

"I will be," she finally managed.

She called on the curative light a second time and felt more of the damage mend. With her strength gradually returning, she looked up at the girl. By Celes' guess, she was not yet a teen. Curled blonde hair framed a round and innocent face, and the notebook was now clutched against her chest. The rustle of paper drew Celes' focus to the ground, where a torn sheet of paper lay. The two halves were covered by a detailed charcoal sketch.

A Chimera.

Celes swiveled her gaze back to the child, her brow drawn together in a rare instant of complete bewilderment.

The girl chuckled nervously.

* * *

The sun was low in the sky by the time Celes and her charge made it back to Thamasa. Khione padded along beside them, having reemerged shortly after the Chimera attack. The young girl, of course, had been delighted by the wolf's appearance and held lightly onto her silvery mane as they walked.

Leo, the Returners, and the mercenary were there to greet them as they reentered the village. "I was just about to go looking for you," the male general called.

Before Celes could respond, several things happened at once. The young girl gasped at the sight of the ninja's large black dog and started running over to him. Shadow grew visibly taut, and Interceptor froze with ears erect and hackles raised.

"Puppy!"

"Get back," Shadow warned harshly. "He bites."

The girl came to a quick stop, already within arm's reach. Still tense, the dog stretched out his neck almost cautiously to sniff the girl's arm. In spite of his master's warning, Interceptor's tail began to wag excitedly, and he licked the girl's palms and face.

"Vicious puppy," she giggled.

Locke leaned closer to Shadow with a murmur. "Does he actually bite, or is it just an intimidation factor?"

"He's not himself," the ninja grumbled.

It was while the girl fawned over Interceptor that Terra took note of the older blonde's haggard appearance and the dried blood spotting her cloak. "Celes, what happened?"

Though her head continued to throb, the general brushed it off. "Rough encounter. Have you spoken to a Strago?"

"Yes, but he said he didn't know anything."

"Of course." Celes tapped the child on the shoulder. "Lead the way."

The girl's eyes widened. "Um, now? Are you sure we can't wait until later? He's probably napping right now, and he's cranky when he gets woken up. Actually, he's cranky all the time, so maybe we should just—" The girl groaned when Celes hoisted her to her feet. "—okay."

With an unyielding hand on the girl's shoulder, the general followed her along a stone path to a house at the northern end of town. She rapped on the door three times, soon met by an older man that appeared to be in his seventies. His white hair and beard were a stark contrast over the deep red robes he wore. His confusion at seeing Celes and Leo turned to disgruntlement when he noticed Terra, Locke, and Shadow behind them.

"Back again, eh? What would you like to talk about this time? Ghosts? Fairies? Gnomes?"

Unamused, Celes tugged her charge into the doorway.

"Hi, Grandpa," the girl greeted sheepishly.

"Relm? You're supposed to be upstairs!" Strago narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"We crossed paths while I was exploring the surrounding area," Celes explained.

"She does have a tendency to wander off," Strago admitted with a pointed look of reprimand to his granddaughter. "I hope it wasn't too much trouble to bring her home."

"The very thing I came to discuss. Could you spare us another few minutes of your time?"

Strago deliberated, eyes roving the surrounding area as though searching for eavesdroppers. "…fine, fine, come inside," he relented. "Quickly now." Ushering the group inside, he closed the front door and directed them into the kitchen. "What did my granddaughter do this time?"

"Hey! I'm standing right here!" Relm complained.

"Nothing I would define as unacceptable," Celes assured the old man. "I was actually wondering if there was anything you might have forgotten to mention to my companions."

Strago feigned a moment of consideration. "Nope. Can't say there is."

"Nothing at all," she pressed, unconvinced.

"It's like I told your friends; Thamasa has been cut off from the rest of the world for hundreds of years. We lead simple lives here, free of whatever fairy tale you young folk are chasing. What more can I say?"

Done with formalities, Celes unceremoniously tossed Relm's sketchpad onto the table. "Maybe you'd care to explain this."

Strago eyed the two halves of the torn drawing warily as they settled down on top of the pad. "My granddaughter is quite a talented artist."

"I've heard of artists with the ability to bring their works to life…but I've never once heard of a painting leaping off the canvas as a warm-blooded manifestation, no matter how _talented_ the artist."

"The mists of this island have a way of tricking percept—"

Strago was cut short when the tip of Celes' Rune Blade was driven into the wood of the table. The old man ran his gaze over the curved steel, lingering on the complex etchings carved deep into the shaft.

They were glowing a faint blue.

"I have little patience for lies," Celes warned.

Behind her, Leo shifted his stance but withheld comment. Instead of answering the general, Strago sent Relm a stern look.

The girl wilted slightly. "I'm sorry, Grandpa, but it was a Chimera. I _had_ to help."

"What have I told you about going into that ravine?"

"Only pick the gold-spotted mushrooms?"

"_Relm_."

"What a grumpy old man." She pointed to Celes. "Did you know she can use magic?"

Strago's eyes flickered briefly to the Rune Blade. "The fact has been brought to my attention."

"Are they looking for the—"

"Aren't you supposed to be cleaning your room?" the old man interrupted.

Relm deflated. "…yes."

"You can't go to Sareth's house until you do."

"Yeah, I know," she sighed. "I figured you'd forget," she added in a low mumble.

"Now, please."

"Okay, okay!" Relm's parting comment floated down the stairs as she ascended to her room. "…you old Wartpuck…"

Strago waited until he heard her door close, then sighed deeply. "Forgive my granddaughter. She's—"

"Spirited?" Terra guessed.

"Young," the old man amended. "She doesn't need to be a part of this."

Despite seeing the warning glance from Leo, Celes pressed. "A part of what, exactly?"

Strago shook his head. "You shouldn't be here," he told them gravely. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

Leo put a hand on the blonde's shoulder, stifling further remark. "We understand. Thank you for your time."

Conceding to the elder officer's unspoken command, Celes pried her sword out of the table and withdrew from the house alongside her companions. When the group reached the fork in the pathway, Leo pulled his fellow general aside.

"I wish you had not done that."

"I thought he might be more willing to talk—"

"At sword point?" Leo interjected. "We cannot force cooperation." At the blonde's skeptical look, he amended his statement. "We _should_not force cooperation. Such is far removed from our purpose here."

Celes bit down on a sharp reply; speaking out now, even to Leo, would only deepen the waters she was treading. "As you say, Commander."

"As I say?" Leo repeated incredulously. "Lady Celes—"

Before he could voice his question, Relm came skipping around the side of her house, oblivious to the tension. "Hey, wait up!" Bouncing to a halt, she adjusted her beret. "Are you leaving?"

Leo glanced to his companions. "I believe we were about to discuss that very matter."

"Sorry about Gramps. They don't really like outsiders here."

"I suppose that rules out the possibility of lodging for the night," the male general surmised.

"Try the hospice. If you tell the caretaker you know the old man, he might be a little nicer."

"A kind suggestion and much appreciated." Leo took the girl's small hand between his own. "Thank you, Relm."

The girl blushed and shyly dug her toe into the ground. "No problem."

"All the pretty magic users," Locke muttered under his breath. Terra nudged him lightly, but the thief just rolled his eyes.

If Leo heard the remark, he gave no sign. "Mister Cole, may I ask a favor?"

"No harm in trying."

"While I inquire at the hospice, would you please return to the encampment and let our entourage know of the situation?"

Locke shrugged. "Easy enough."

"You have my thanks."

"I know, I know. It's 'much appreciated,'" the thief parroted.

While Leo and Locke left to complete their tasks, Shadow retreated to a patch of grass where the dogs were lounging, leaving the two women with the girl.

"Finally," Relm breathed. "Now that the boys are gone, we can girl talk. You have magic," she said bluntly, looking at Celes. She switched her gaze to Terra. "You both do." And then came back to Celes. "And you can _eat_ magic?"

"Something like that."

"Through your sword." She received a nod in response. "How?"

"Magic," Celes answered dryly. "How do you turn your paintings into living incarnations?"

"Magic," Relm returned. The general made a gesture of concession. "I've always been able to. I remember when I was younger, I wanted someone to play with, so I drew a puppy. Then it just sort of jumped out of the page. A _real_ puppy. Grandpa didn't believe me at first. Told me it was a dream. Finally I just showed him. Ever since then, I've figured out how to control it. I'm the only one here who can do it."

Terra smiled. "You have a gift, Relm."

"Grandpa doesn't like me using it."

"Why not?" the mage wondered.

"He…" Relm hesitated, then started again. "He used to tell stories about this monster he and his friend hunted when they were younger. A couple years ago, I found an old drawing in one of his journals, and…I thought it looked cool. I decided to paint Grandpa fighting the monster and give it to him for his birthday." Her gaze turned downcast. "I…I lost control of it. I couldn't stop it from coming to life, and…it killed two people before I could get rid of it."

Terra regarded the girl sadly. "I'm sorry, Relm…I know what it's like to lose control of your power. It didn't stop you from painting, though, did it?"

"Not exactly. I mostly do landscapes and stuff now. A few trees never hurt anyone." She looked up from the ground. "So, you're looking for Espers, right?"

"What makes you think that?"

The girl shrugged. "Why else would you be here?"

"There's no fooling you, is there?" Terra mused.

"Why do you want to find them?"

"To reach an understanding," Leo explained as he rejoined them, "and end the feud between us."

Relm's eyes brightened. "I could help. I could come with you."

The male general shook his head. "The road we tread is no place for a child."

"But I can take care of myself!" Relm insisted. She turned to Celes pleadingly. "You know I can!" When the older blonde failed to respond, the girl crossed her arms in determination. "I saved your life."

"No, you didn't."

Relm flinched at the coldness in Celes' voice. She lowered her head to hide her eyes, backing up a few steps. "Fine. I'll just go…battle some dust bunnies or something."

The girl swung around, almost crashing into Locke as she dashed back inside her house.

The thief blinked as the door slammed shut. "Did I miss something?"

Leo held a similar sentiment. "Yes, what _did_ we miss?"

The blonde didn't quite meet his quizzical gaze. "It's nothing."

"Lady Celes, if you have concerns, speak them now."

She warred with herself, wondering if he know what he was asking. It was one more truth she couldn't escape. One more wish she couldn't fulfill. One more shade of gray she had to live in.

Conscience wouldn't abide it.

"I'm starting to think the old man was right," she admitted at last. "Maybe we shouldn't be here."

"You mean abandon the mission?" Leo asked warily.

Duty wouldn't allow it.

"I mean pursue it elsewhere. The Espers aren't here; I think it's best if we move on."

"Is this about Relm?" Terra wondered innocently. When the general didn't reply, "She's gifted, Celes. She's not dangerous."

For a time, the blonde could only study Terra, without the heart to tell her why she was missing the point. Years before, Professor Marquez told Celes he had described the green-haired girl as the same shortly after she was brought to Vector. The young woman, both human and Esper, had come down a long hard road from when they met as children. Her purity and will had been stripped away, leaving her to pick up the pieces in an unkind world. Now she worked to construct a new life with only fragments of the old to guide her.

Celes had seen what the Empire did to 'gifted' people. She _was_ what the Empire did to gifted people.

Foresight couldn't avert it.

"What do you know about Chimeras?" she finally asked. The odd context of the question threw Terra off, and the mage could only shrug. "They're creatures of magic. _True_ magic, like Espers. Not the evolutionary mishaps we see now like…Litwor Chickens," she named in distaste.

While Leo grunted at mention of the bizarre homeland creature, Celes continued. "During the War of the Magi, alchemy, necromancy, and other forbidden magic was used to create the Great Fiends. Tiamat. Behemoth. Humbaba. Gigas. Deathgaze. Atma. The Dragons of Element." Celes paused thoughtfully. "Chimera. They were beasts of terrible power, bred solely for destruction. Most were sealed away by the Magi after the war, but a few managed to spawn a new generation."

"Like what you fought today," Leo inferred with a nod.

"I'm guessing the original Chimera was much larger and more powerful than this one, but yes. Which means there are descendants of a Fiend on this island. An island protected by an unnatural mist. An island we're fairly certain the Espers have come to. I don't think the old man is the only one hiding something, and I don't think Relm is the only one here with a 'gift.' There's magic here, and it's not just the Espers."

Terra had yet to grasp Celes' true concern. "What does that mean?"

"We need to tread carefully," Leo answered for his fellow general. "The Empire is a foreign presence here, and it is not our intent to disrupt their way of life. And…we are out of our element."

Celes scoffed. "Speak for yourself."

"Lady Celes, I am forced to remind you your defeat of that Chimera came only with the aid of a ten year-old girl."

"I would've killed it."

"Yes," Leo agreed. "With an explosion of energy you could no longer contain, killing yourself along with it."

The blonde general waved it off. "Minor detail."

"Okay, so we don't trample anyone's flower beds, and we don't embed sharp pointy objects into people's kitchen tables," Locke translated, eliciting a withering glare from Celes. "Here's a question: what _is_ the plan?"

"As it happens," Leo began, "Relm was correct; the hospice caretaker was kind enough to prove a few rooms for us. Get some sleep tonight. We will move out and continue our search in the morning."

With no reason to argue, Locke and Terra fell in behind Leo. Celes delayed when she noticed the mercenary staring off in the direction of Strago's house.

"Shadow." He met her gaze. "Remember our agreement. Start making yourself useful, or get ready to swim back to the mainland."

The ninja remained silent as he brushed past her, making for the hospice with the others. Celes lingered a moment longer, her eyes drawn to the ghostly mountain chains across the gulf to the west. Through the veil of fog, she thought she saw a fleeting glimmer of ethereal light.

She had no doubt the mists truly did play with one's perception as the old man had said.

She also had a feeling of what was lurking in its depths.


End file.
